


Academy Blues

by junko



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:33:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9571799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: After the defeat of Yhwach, Ichigo is told he can't go home.  Instead, the Captain-Commander packs him off to Shinigami Academy.Follows the events ofForever with You Never Sounded So Stupid.





	1. Chapter 1

Ichigo leaned on his elbow and stared out the long, narrow windows of Shinōreijutsuin, the Shinigami Academy, and tried to wrap his head around just what the living fuck he was doing here. 

Okay, not _living_ fuck. Not any more. 

DEAD fuck, apparently.

Because, after dropping the bomb that after defeating Yhwach Ichigo was just too damn powerful to go home to a normal life in Karakura, Captain-Commander Kyōraku casually let slip this little nugget: turns out Ichigo had been dead for years. Dead, like as a doorknob. DEAD. Deceased. Shuffled off this mortal coil! DEAD. No longer among the living. Pushing up daisies. Gone to join the choir eternal.

DEAD.

Yeah, apparently that whole ‘let’s throw your spirit in a pit and cut your Soul chain’ as a fun power-up exercise...? That’d finished the work Byakuya started.

It was a good damn thing Ichigo was barred from returning to the Human World because the first thing he’d do was fucking murder that manipulative, smug Urahara Kisuke. Urahara fucking killed him! And then, what? Never said a fucking peep. Never found it in him to be all, ‘Say, by the way, you’re dead now! Sorry for killing you and stuffing your spirit in a gigai, I meant to tell you, but the world needed saving, tut-tut!”

Motherfucker.

The worst part was that it kind of made sense in retrospect. 

Like, it always confused Ichigo how he could come back from having gone full-on Vasto Lorde in Hueco Mundo. Ulquiorra should’ve killed him. Instead, Ichigo had experienced it as this long, never-ending fall, bottomless, like there was nothing… no destination to arrive at. There were other things, too, not the least of which was having, you know, all the shinigami powers even after Rukia’s power was restored to her. And how Kon could inhabit his ‘body’....

The bell chimed. Ichigo gathered up his books and followed the stream of fresh-faced eager Academy students out of the lecture hall. He let out a sigh as he checked his schedule. God damn it. Zanjutsu. 

Ichigo was extremely tempted to skip. He had no idea what kind of trouble he’d be in if he blew off class and headed to whatever passed as the roof in this gods forsaken place, but he was sorely tempted to find out. The first day had been such a disaster. He’d at least known enough to leave Zangetsu in his dorm room, but even just doing the exercises with bokken had been like moving in super-slow motion. 

He was more than a little advanced for this class.

But, what was he supposed to do? He’d tried telling the instructor that he had bankai already. She’d laughed, but when he insisted he was serious, she gave him double cleaning duty for the week.

Whatever. 

At least it was a hour he wasn’t stuck learning basic math. Apparently, high school Calculus had not yet been invented in the Soul Society. 

At the door to the dojo, Ichigo slipped off his sandals. Following the other students, he pulled a bokken off the rack and plopped down on the floor in seiza. The instructor gave him the stink eye. “Could you not do everything with a bad attitude, Mr. Kurosaki?”

Dead gym teachers were EXACTLY as annoying as the living ones he’d left back in Karakura Town. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that, anyway? But, she was still glaring at him like she expected some response, so he said, “Sorry, I’ll be better.”

He’d been going for contrite, but the only language he seemed fluent in these days was sarcasm. Why could he never sound like he gave a fuck? Oh, right, probably because he couldn’t muster a single one.

“I think what you’ll be is my sparring partner today,” she sneered. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said as he hopped to his feet. His fellow students shot Ichigo pitying glances, like they were legit sorry for him that he was going to get his ass handed to him for the day. Well, maybe it’d happen. But, given the fact that he’d beaten the Kenpachi, it didn’t seem likely. 

Still, he told himself as he bowed in, never underestimate the power of an irritated sword-form instructor. 

Plus, it wasn’t like he was going to have Zangetsu as an ally. No bankai. It was just going to be bashing each other with sword-shaped sticks. Ichigo had been in judo, not kendo. The rules were different in a classroom. 

Right, so Ichigo had to take Hitomi-sensei seriously as an opponent. She was tiny and fierce like Soi Fon. A little rounder in the hips, but that only served to make her seem more solid, more formidable. Her gray hair was cropped short and kind of sticky-uppy like Kensei’s. In fact, she kind of looked like she could be Kensei’s murderous grandma. She had that same ‘I either want to punch you or put on an apron and make you dinner’ look in her beady eyes that Kensei often did.

Without even realizing it, Ichigo had been circling Hitomi-sensei, while testing the weight of the bokken. 

“I see you’ve held a weapon before,” she noted. “Are you from the Rukongai?”

“No, Hu--” He almost told her the truth, but Ichigo swallowed it back remembering how well she’d taken the whole bankai thing. The Rukongai was where he WOULD be from if he’d done things properly, right? “Yeah, basically? I mean, I guess.”

For some reason the whole class found Ichigo’s response hillarious. When he turned to give them, the ‘what’s so funny?’ glare, Hitomi-sensei went for a sucker move. Her bokken swung for his head, so fast the wood whistled.

Ichigo ducked at the same moment his sword arm went to up block it without even a thought. The wooden swords met with a hard, echoing crack.

The entire class sucked in a shocked breath. At least one dude in the back whistled, “Holy shit!”

“Mmmm, you have good instincts,” Hitomi-sensei said. “What district?”

District? What was she even asking him? Oh, right, the Rukongai was divided into sections. She was asking where he was from. Fuck. This was the problem with lying. Ichigo had no fucking clue. Did Rukongai districts have names or just numbers? Crap, Ichigo had no idea. Where was Rukia from? It was the same place as Renji. It was on the tip of his tongue. Something about a dog? “Oh...um… Inuzuri?”

Okay, that was apparently the WRONG answer because now everyone was staring at him like he’d just let out the loudest, most noxious fart. Ichigo could not figure out this reaction. Did he pronounce Inuzuri wrong? Was it a homonym for something rude?

“Indeed?” the instructor sniffed. For some reason, she motioned the class to get up off their knees. They jumped up like the floor was on fire. “Your accent is deceptive, Mr. Kurosaki.”

“O-kay,” he said cautiously, while thinking, _note to self: ask Renji and Rukia about what the fuck is up with Inuzuri ASAP_. Especially since accent? Sure, when he first met Rukia she sounded like she came out of some Edo period stage play, but Renji… he just sounded like all the tough guys down the street. So, what accent?

“However, I would not have expected you to be so familiar with such an… advanced weapon,” Hitomi-sensei continued. 

A bokken was advanced weaponry in Inuzuri? But, so what? What was the point of this conversation. “That’s nice.”

“Sensei,” she said, “Address me Hitomi-sensei.”

“Okay. That’s nice, Hitomi-sensei. Did you have a point?”

Apparently, her point was to try to kill him for being so impudent, because up went the sword again. Ichigo had plenty of time to react this time. The trouble was going to be not going for the killing blow. He had to concentrate and only parry, block, and defend. Given how ticked off Hitomi-sensei was at his mouthing off, Ichigo did not figure a hard poke in the solar plexus would make her like him any better. 

It was hard. He had to pull back several times when he could have gotten a clean shot in. She noticed it, too. Every time he hesitated, she went after him harder and with more complex attacks. 

But, no offense, sensei-ma’am, you ain’t no Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. 

The class was rapt. Ichigo heard the occasional gasp and hoot from the peanut gallery. His fellow students had spread out into a semicircle on the outside of the dojo’s interior ring. Sensei kept trying to push Ichigo out of bounds, but he was not willing to bring the fight that close to anyone who could get hurt in the crossfire, so he dodged her attempts. 

She was sweating hard. Her face was red. Ichigo really thought she’d have given up by now.

Finally, it dawned on Ichigo. She couldn’t quit until she’d put him down. 

Winning against him was a matter of face--as a teacher, and maybe the whole Inuzuri thing that Ichigo had flubbed somehow. 

_Okay, okay,_ Ichigo thought to himself. _I can do this. I can let her win. Just… just take a fall. C’mon, do it. All you have to do is hold still. Let her get a one in. This isn’t hard. It’s not like it’s gonna really hurt. It’s a piece of wood. Aizen blew half your spine off. This is not that fight. This is just a silly, stupid game. Let the teacher win. C’mon. STOP. FIGHTING._

Except, his body wouldn’t listen. Ichigo literally did not know how not to fight.

The bell rang.

Ichigo waited. He hoped the class would disperse or that the teacher would finally decide to call it a draw… nope, still coming at him, still coming hard.

Fuck it.

Ichigo filled his last swing with reiatsu. Not murderously strong, but enough to surprise her and push her back….

Then he stepped into shunpo and flew out the goddamn window like a punk.

#

He stepped down in the quad. Lots of people gave him a double-take when he slid out of flash step, especially when they saw the blue cadet stripe on his uniform. Ichigo dropped the bokken in the grass. 

Up in the window of the zanjutsu class, faces filled the window trying to spot him. He could hear people shouting his name. He ducked under the canopy of a huge, gnarled oak tree. Pressing his back against the bark, he slid down the trunk. His butt hit the grass with a thump. “Well, that sucked.”

He looked at his hands, turning the palms up. There was hardly any redness there, only a little sweat. Steady, firm… already aching for the next fight.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” Resting his arms on his upraised knees, Ichigo tilted his head back. The sunlight dappled the broad oak leaves. The breeze smelled of coming rain. Peaceful. 

Ichigo closed his eyes.

The Captain-Commander was right about him. He couldn’t go back to the Human World. 

Not like this. 

What did he tell Kyōraku he was going to do with his life--teach in a dojo? Was he insane? If he didn’t know how to stop, let go, and take a hit, how would he keep from hurting someone one day?

Just before everyone had left for the Human World, Ichigo had finally managed to ask Orihime what she was planning to do with her life. Culinary Arts School. It made perfect sense. She’d really loved working at that bakery. Her and food… well, it was definitely a passion.

Chad had already been making an okay living with his band. His plan was to finish high school and do odd jobs for as long as the band could get gigs. After that, he wasn’t sure. The drummer was some kind of mechanic. Chad thought maybe that’d suit him.

But, they all fit somewhere. Even Uryu had his plans to be a fashion designer or tailor or whatever.

Not Ichigo.

He’d never put a lick of thought into his future. All he had ever done was go from one fight to the next. 

And here he was--dead and fucking beating up on old lady teachers. 

Yeah, no more classes for him today. He was done. Ichigo was going to take his chances and skip out. Picking himself up off his ass, he headed to the dorm.

#

Academy dorms were pretty much exactly how Ichigo imagined college dorms would be. First years, which Ichigo technically was, had these two basic, one-story barracks buildings; boys in one building; girls in the other. Ichigo was assigned a room the size of a cheap Tokyo apartment and a roommate---some timid, skinny kid named Naoki or Orochi or fuck if Ichigo could remember.

It’d be cramped if Ichigo had anything other than Zangetsu. 

Was he sad about that? Ichigo couldn’t honestly decide. It wasn’t like he had anything really precious back home. Except jeans. He’d fucking kill for a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt. He missed manga, too. Well, more he missed the weekly trek down to the train station to pick up _Weekly Shounen Jump_ from the newsstand. 

And his iPod. Life without music sucked. And all the new releases he was missing? He had no chance at being cool, anymore. Not that he ever really was. Ichigo’s taste in bands was too eclectic. Another thing he’d kill for? His phone and a decent internet connection.

But what would he do with his Twitter account? Cyberstalk his living friends? #StillDead

He plunked down on the floor, looking around at the Academy issued futon that stupid Orochi/Naoki hadn’t even bothered to roll up. 

Why’d he have to get assigned a slob? Ichigo stood back up and started gathering up empty ramen bowls, wadded up tabi, and other various detritus. He set them in a tidy pile in the corner of what’s-his-name’s side of the room and then rolled up the futon. More shit fell out of that. After putting the futon in its closet, Ichigo picked up the rest. He was headed down the hall to try to find the communal broom when he was approached by another cadet. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where the broom and dustbin might--”

“You’re Kurosaki Ichigo, right?”

“Uh, I think it depends who’s asking,” Ichigo said, still a little worried about reprisals from zanjutsu. 

Kid just shrugged and jerked his thumb in the direction of the main hall. “Your mailbox is full.”

“Wait, I get mail?”

The guy shook his head. “Mid-term transfers are the worst. Yeah, you get mail. No one showed you?”

#

Ichigo brought an armful of letters back to his room. It seemed half the Gotei and most of his Human World friends had written. Dummo Dad even sent a postcard from somewhere called “Cincinnati, Ohio.” The card was otherwise pretty blank--just the one sentence: “Still above the ground. Daddy-O.” 

Above the ground, great. Ichigo was so not in the mood for dead jokes, especially since Dummo Dad was still apparently shirking dad duty at home. The letter from the twins came from Karakura. 

Ichigo tore that one open first and scanned Karin’s cramped handwriting. Apparently, the big lug from Urahara Shoten--Tessai?--came by to give them the news. Karin made some snarky comment about how she always knew Ichigo was a “DEADbeat older brother.” They didn’t seem too fussed that Dummo Dad had done a runner, maybe because it sounded like Urahara had taken over the financial stuff. Ichigo put down the letter for a moment, thought about that for about five seconds, and then decided he didn’t want to know why Dummo Dad had given some perverted shopkeeper financial power of attorney. But, Ichigo breathed a little easier knowing they were set. They weren’t going to end up homeless waiting for Dad to get his fucking shit together. The rest of the letter was filled with news about Japan’s sports teams and a P.S. from Yuzu reminding Ichigo “to eat.”

Orihime’s letter was less than half a page. Her looping calligraphy seemed stiff and formal, like she wasn’t sure what to say. Chad’s, meanwhile, was seven pages long and filled not only with news about his band and job hunt, but also all the gossip from all the cliques in high school and doodles of caricatures of the teachers, as well.

Yhwach had clearly body-swapped them at some point, Ichigo thought with a fond shake of his head.

Keigo wrote a little too earnestly about everything, and left Ichigo with an uncomfortable bit of information: “Did you know these letters are being sent to you by burning them at the altar Yuzu set up for you? How creepy is that?” 

_Pretty fucking creepy. Thanks, Keigo._

Also, according to Mizuiro, Kyōraku had given them some kind of Soul Passes so they could come and visit. Apparently, the Captain-Commander visited MONTHS ago. Like, in the middle of the damn war. 

Setting that one aside, Ichigo moved onto the Gotei pile. Rukia’s letter was very hurried. She wrote stuff about the captaincy test, gushing about how happy she was that Byakuya was super-proud of her, and sadness about Ukitake’s passing. Apparently, the two Third Seats were inconsolable. 

Renji’s note just said that if Ichigo beat his Academy record he’d fucking kill him.

That made Ichigo smile. Though at this point, the only record he was likely to break was the speed at which he got expelled.

There was some kind of group “Get Well” card from the Eleventh Division. On which someone with a really flowery hand--maybe Yumichika?--had written “The Captain wants you back here ASAP. Also, he calls dibs.”

Dibs? On what?

The very last piece of mail was a weird blank envelope. For some reason, maybe because of the lack of any other indication of who it might be from, Ichigo felt compelled to put it to his nose. Instantly, he smelled the oaken scent of autumn.

Aizen.

Cautiously, as if afraid of what he might find, Ichigo pried open the envelope and unfolded the letter.

Wow! No shit Aizen was a calligraphy master, his handwriting was gorgeous. Like fucking art work! Not perfect and blocky, but with so much… flourish? Emotion? Poetry? But, all of the beauty of the penmanship was in stark contrast to the very Aizen-like content:

 

> Kurosaki Ichigo:
> 
> I thought a lot about what you said about my inability to practice calligraphy and decided that I would make a habit of writing to you in order that I might, in this small way, continue my hobby.
> 
> I would say that I trust that you are settling in well at Academy, but I highly doubt that you are. It is a monumental folly to force you to attend that wretched, hidebound institution. At best, you’ll be bored out of your mind; at worst, your prodigious and innate talent as a warrior will be hammered into the dull and useless boilerplate of a common soldier.
> 
> I highly recommend escape.
> 
> In fact, should you need a place to retreat to, I have an old bolt hole not far from the first year dorm. If it still stands, it should still be well stocked with tea. There is chocolate hidden in a natural refrigerator under the tatami--as well as reading material, though I suspect you will not find forbidden Kidō theory nearly as fascinating as I did. 
> 
> I have included a detailed map. The only caveats are, of course, that you will have to find your own way over the wall and I can’t guarantee that Rukongai bandits have not, after all these intervening years, discovered it and picked it clean.
> 
> Should the bolt hole still be useful, however, I would like you to consider it yours now. Decorate it as you will. You may, of course, dispose of the old Periodic Table of Elements poster as well as the dartboard featuring the then Head Master’s face. I’m afraid I was a rather ‘nerdy’ and frustrated young cadet. My taste in decor was appalling and pedestrian. 
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Aizen Sousuke

 

Ichigo read the letter twice. Then, he flipped it over and studied the map printed on the other side. Aizen’s map was likewise amazing. It included a key to calculate scale and latitude and longitude.

‘Rather’ nerdy? Jeez, how long did it take Aizen to make this map, anyway? 

When Ichigo flipped the letter back over, he noticed something else kind of startling. Aizen had signed his name. Had it been a mistake… reflex? Or…? A sign of trust?

Ichigo folded Aizen’s letter and tucked it inside his kosode. 

Right, now the only question in Ichigo’s mind was did he check out this secret hideout now or ten minutes ago.


	2. Mid-Term Transfer Student

Thanks to the detail of Aizen’s map, Ichigo was able to find Aizen’s hidey-hole easily. 

Ichigo had totally expected to be lost. He’d been in various parts of the Rukongai a couple of times, but it was not terrain he was very familiar with. The district just outside of Academy did not seem to have much in the way of villages, if you excluded the makeshift camp ground just outside of the southern gate. 

The landscape reminded Ichigo of the Gifu Prefecture. Dummo Dad had taken the family there for some kind of historic fire ceremony. Truth was, Ichigo hadn’t remembered much about the trip other than seeing a family of deer from the window of the train. The rolling foothills had impressed him though, and the way moss hung thickly on boulders, the seemingly endless forests of cypress and white pine, and wide, open meadows full of grasses and wildflowers. 

It was weird to see so much unspoiled land, both there and here. Gifu at least had a train, towns, roads. This place was just… vast amounts of wild. 

Ichigo had totally expected to get lost picking his way through thick stands of fern and bracken, uphill, following a tiny mountain stream, but somehow he arrived in front of the door to a traditional ‘praying hands construction’ farmhouse just like the map said he would. Several sections of the thatched roof had rotted away, but the clay walls still seemed sturdy enough. Cautiously, Ichigo slid open the door.

If raiders had pillaged the place, they'd left it in pretty decent condition. Ichigo slipped off his sandals, leaving them on the hard-packed mud floor before stepping up onto the timbered floor. Mice scattered. Something took flight from the thatching, raining bits of rush into Ichigo’s hair. A built-in hearth, an irori, occupied the center of the main room. Tacked to one of the walls was a tattered poster of the Periodic Table of Elements, almost looking like a shrine, given the small pile of books beneath it, scattered like offerings. A snake slithered out from between the pages of one of them before disappearing out a gap in the walls. 

Ichigo hunted around until he found a small section of tatami in a far room. Lifting up one, he found the natural refrigerator Aizen had spoken of. Sure enough, glass containers of tea were perfectly preserved. A metal tin contained actual chocolate from the Human World. 

In his excitement, Ichigo started to rip open a package of Choco Flakes. The chocolate was halfway to his mouth before he stopped. Wait a damn minute. Choco Flakes?

Ichigo had no fucking idea how old Aizen was, but he knew for damn sure that there was no way some Academy punk was popping back to the Human World to stock up on vending machine candy. Sure, Choco Flakes had been around since the 60s… that was only, what? Like, 50 years ago.

Okay, to look at him, maybe Aizen could be 50….

But, Ichigo got the impression that most shinigami were well over a hundred years old. If that was the case, then Aizen was full of shit. He hadn’t abandoned this place. Or, if he had, he’d made a recent trip back here to restock the fridge. Which meant the whole, ‘oh, just go use my old place thing’ was some kind of a ploy to get Ichigo out here.

Ichigo glanced over his shoulder warily. So this was some kind of chocolate-baited trap….

Ah, fuck it. Chocolate was chocolate. 

Upending the packet of flakes into his mouth, Ichigo closed up the fridge. It would be weird for Aizen to ambush him now. Sure, he and Uryu were the only ones who knew his big secret, but killing either of them made no tactical sense. Not that Ichigo was some kind of strategical genius like Aizen, but, c’mon… Captain-Commander Kyōraku had only just sent him off to Academy. It’d be pretty fucking suspicious for Ichigo to turn up dead in some Rukongai farmhouse.

Wouldn’t it?

Ichigo slid open a porch door. Aizen’s ‘dartboard’ was just beyond the edge of the simple, rough-hewn patio . At least Ichigo assumed that was what the tight cluster of arrows sticking out of the trunk of a tree was. Pulling out Zangetsu, Ichigo sat down on the edge and lay his zanpakuto across his knees.

If this was one of Aizen’s traps, Ichigo would be ready.

#

A Hell Butterfly woke Ichigo. He blinked awake, his mouth dry from drooling on the patio boards and rubbed his face, trying to remember where he even was: “What the fuck?”

“Kurosaki Ichigo,” the butterfly said. “Report to the office of the headmaster immediately.”

“Oh, right.” He’d been skiving off from school in Aizen’s secret base. 

The butterfly seemed to take that as a response and began drifting away. Ichigo reached out for it, saying, “Wait a minute. You’re like the Seireitei’s version of a telephone, right?” Since the butterfly paused, circling lazily in the air, Ichigo decided that meant ‘yes.’ “Okay, so, send a message for me to…. Uh, can you send a couple?” Again, no real reply, but Ichigo forged on. “First, ask Kuchiki Rukia why the hell everyone looked at me like I was pissing on their favorite pot when I accidentally suggested I was from Inuzuri. Secondly, tell A… Kurotsuchi Mayuri…” what the hell could Ichigo even say to Aizen that wouldn’t give everything away? He sucked at all this subterfuge and intrigue. The butterfly seemed to be waiting, so he said, “Just tell him… uh, nevermind.”

With that, Ichigo stood up. He dusted off his hakama and used a burst of bankai-level super-speed to get his ass back to Academy.

#

Ichigo had spent a lot of time in headmasters' offices in the past and so he knew better than to answer the rhetorical questions, like ‘what were you thinking?’

Of course, the zanjutsu instructor, Hitomi-sensei, was standing beside the headmaster, looking ticked off. Mostly Ichigo tuned out the whole ‘behavior expected of a cadet’ lecture. He’d heard so many of these before, they were all the same. He focused, instead, on keeping his face as expressionless as possible. If you give them an eyeroll, they give you detention. 

“What baffles me the most, Mr. Kurosaki,” the headmaster said, “Is why you chose to lie to Hitomi-sensei. Why did you tell her you were from Inuzuri?”

Ichigo had been thinking that the headmaster was one of only two shinigami he’d ever met that seemed not only overweight, but slightly balding. Ichigo had been secretly hoping that being dead meant you didn’t have to worry about shit like getting fat. Now he wasn’t so sure. The chocolate rumbled uneasily in his stomach.

“Huh?” Ichigo pulled himself out of the zone when he realized the headmaster had asked something that actually needed answering. “The Inuzuri thing? Oh, I guess I didn’t figure sensei would believe the truth, since she laughed at the idea I had bankai.”

The headmaster turned to address Hitomi. “Mr. Kurosaki has bankai. He’s also the only son of Shiba Isshin.”

“Shiba?” she breathed. She gave Ichigo several double-takes before turning her attention back to the headmaster. “Why is a True First enrolled under a fake name?”

What the fuck was a True First? First of what? True… how? And, what the fuck? “‘Oi, my name isn’t fake.”

“Apparently, Kurosaki is a married name,” the headmaster explained. He raised his palms to Ichigo, gesturing to him to chill. Then, as a little aside between adults, the headmaster added out of the side of his mouth and behind a hand, “And, you know the Shiba, Tomone. Very eccentric.”

Well, if they were talking about Kukaku, yeah. And Ganju. Dude was in love with a pig, after all.

“Ah, yes, of course,” Hitomi-sensei nodded, like everything made sense now. “I knew he couldn’t be from Inuzuri.” 

Ichigo had to work really hard to hold off an eye-roll at that bullshit. 

But, then the weirdest thing happened. Hitomi-sensei bowed deep--like almost forehead to knees!--and coming back up said, “My apologies for any rough treatment, Shiba-sama.”

Ichigo glanced behind him, half expecting some dude named Lord Shiba to be standing behind him in a fancy-ass kimono. When he realized Hitomi-sensei meant him, he pointed to his nose. “Kurosaki… -kun to most people, okay? Shiba-sama is... “ Dummo Dad? No, that was too weird too. “... someone else.”

The teacher bowed again.

Then, the headmaster stood up and gave a tremendously deep bow, too. He gave Ichigo a little wink like they were co-conspirators or something, and said, “I trust that after our little talk, you understand the behavior expected of you, Shib-- er, Kurosaki-dono. No more disrupting or skipping class… for no good reason. This time it’s just a little misunderstanding, right?”

O-kay. Shit was getting really, really weird. Ichigo had beat-up on an old-lady Academy instructor, skipped afternoon classes, and went off-campus truant, and, instead of expelling his delinquent ass, the headmaster was giving Ichigo a wink and a pat on the back?

“Riiiight.”

“Excellent.” Then the headmaster and the zanjutsu instructor stood there, smiling at him for the longest time. Ichigo, meanwhile, waited to be dismissed.

It was the weirdest Mexican standoff, especially since Ichigo had no idea what the hold up was. Thirty seconds into the awkward it dawned on him that if they were calling him -dono and -sama, he was probably the guy who had to dismiss them. 

Oh fuck this. 

With a backwards wave, Ichigo dashed for the door. “Fine, okay, bye, whatever. Nice talking to you!”

#

Ichigo thought about going back to the dorm, maybe try to find someone who could tell him if he missed any homework or anything, but he ended up wandering aimlessly in the direction of the mess hall. When his stomach growled for a second time, Ichigo decided food sounded like a good idea. Maybe someone from his class would be in dinner.

Going inside, he found the end of the queue. He’d just picked up his tray when some yahoo butted in front of him. “Yo, no budging,” Ichigo said, giving the guy a hard glare.

“How about you know your place, pup,” sneered the budger. Guy was a little shorter than Ichigo, and skinnier, too. Long black hair was twisted into a singular braid that fell to the middle of his back, like he thought he was Jet Li from ‘Once Upon a Time in China.’ 

Since the budger had the air of an upperclassman, what with his nose up like that, Ichigo sneered, “Listen, ‘sempai,’ my ‘place’ is in front of you. Because I was here first. That’s how it works.”

Budger chuckled, like Ichigo had made some kind of joke. “I wouldn’t expect some flea-bitten cur from Inuzuri to understand the natural order of things, so let me explain it to you, puppy: I go in front, because I’m better than you. Bad enough I knelt for five seconds in front of someone like you.”

In Karakura, this little shithole would already have a broken nose. But, Ichigo had just come from the headmaster’s office; he really didn’t want the hassle of a return trip. Anyway, he was finally getting some solid information. “You must be in my zanjutsu class. All this dog stuff, it’s a reference to Inuzuri, I’m guessing? I mean, “Hang Dog” district, right? Okay, so, this ‘I go in front of you bullshit’ is some kind of socio-economic thing?”

Budger blinked, “What?”

“I’m just figuring this out, okay?” Ichigo said as he picked out things for his tray. “You’re saying you get to have today’s mystery meat before me because you were born into a nicer neighborhood? That’s Inuzuri’s big sin--that it’s poor or low class or something? Oh, for fuck’s sake, I thought it was something serious. Hand me those chopsticks, would you?”

“I will not.”

“How rude,” Ichigo said, reaching for them himself. 

Budger slammed down his tray. “I will not stand for an insult from likes of you, dog.”

“You call me names and somehow I’m insulting you? Cute,” Ichigo said, shouldering past the guy. “You’re holding up the line, rich boy.”

What happened next was predictable, and over in about ten seconds. 

In an amateur move that left his entire torso open, the anger-blinded Budger tried to bash Ichigo over the head with his tray. Thanks to the laws of physics, all he actually achieved was dumping his portions of miso and rice all over himself. 

Ichigo just gave the kid a love tap to the solar plexus, but Budger was so off-balanced from his thoughtless, angry attack that he went sprawling. Everyone in the mess hall seemed to spring to their feet at once. Cooks shouted. Students yelled, “Fight!”

This was not fight. This was just stupid.

Before Budger could do more than sputter on the floor, Ichigo grabbed three onigiri and started for the door. “We might as well just meet at the headmaster’s office,” Ichigo told him. “Follow me. I know the way.”

#

The scene was repeated. Except, this time, the person who was made to bow deeply and apologize was Budger-kid. Ichigo tried to explain that, technically, he hit first, but to no avail. It was a lot of “I would never have, had I known you were a Shiba,” and not one word about how maybe it’s rude to be a dick to people no matter what their last name or where they come from.

“A moment of your time, Shiba-sama,” the headmaster said after Budger kid was sent off to detention. 

“Kurosaki,” Ichigo corrected for the seventh time, but he turned around dutifully. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Perhaps things would be easier for everyone if Shiba-sama was shifted to noble housing? Of course, our shabby accommodations could never hope to truly befit a member of a True First family, but you would, at least, be among peers. There are special classes held for those of rank as well--advanced classes--since it is understood so many of your similar rank have been trained and tutored by the finest instructors previous to their attendance here. Again, I’m sure it would be humble by True First standards, but… the current situation does not seem to be meeting Shiba-sama’s needs.”

Meaning: you’re starting too many fights. Ichigo shook his head in dismay. How putting him in a classroom full of dickbags like Budger, who all thought they were born better than everyone else, was going to make Ichigo want to punch people _less_ , he did not know. But he shrugged. “Your call, sir.”

Big bow again. “I will make the arrangements.”

“Fine, but first arrangement? Kurosaki. The name is Kurosaki, okay?”

“Of course, Shiba-sama.”

Ah, fuck it. “Fine, whatever.”

#

Ichigo spent the next twenty minutes cooling his heels on the wooden bench outside the headmaster’s office. Even though he was just waiting around for ‘arrangements’ and no longer in any kind of trouble, he felt miserable. Never in his life had Ichigo been homesick for Karakura High, but right now he well and truly wanted to be sitting in his stupid, undersized desk, half-listening to sensei, and staring out at the track and field yard. Closing his eyes, he could almost picture it. He even fucking missed Keigo, pulling at his uniform sleeve, trying to get his attention or make him laugh with some vaguely-offensive comment about someone’s boobs.

Christ, he really was scraping the bottom of the barrel if he missed Keigo. But, by all the gods, Ichigo could kill for the sound of traffic rushing by, the clatter of trains on tracks, and the acrid, ozone-y smell of smog. 

Anything that would remind him that he was alive.

Of course, it turned out he wasn’t even alive then. 

At that last depressing thought, something dark uncoiled in his Soul and he felt a familiar hardening of his face and a shifting of his eyes. His hand jumped up to cover his face, to control the Hollow mask. Stop it, before it materialized.

It took some wrestling, but he fought the sensation back down, back into that old, mental box labeled ‘Hollow Side.’ Removing his hand, Ichigo watched in awe as the shattered bits of Hollow bone disappeared into thin air, the way they used to when he dropped out of his Vizard mask.

Whoa. He could still do that? 

Glancing around, Ichigo tried to see if anyone had noticed. The headmaster’s secretary or adjutant or whatever still had her head down in her paperwork. If she felt the sudden dark spike of reiatsu, she acted like maybe it wasn’t any of her business. Probably a lot of students had angry roiling spiritual pressure while sitting where he was.

But what had triggered it?

_Zangetsu? Ojii-san?_

Zangetsu’s creepy discordant voice replied, _The fuck you put me back in the time-out box for, King?_

“Why’d you come out in the first place? Did I say ban-kai?”

The secretary/adjutant looked up, making Ichigo realize he’d spoken out loud. _Seriously, dude, there’s no fight right now, okay? And don’t we go full horn-Hollow now, anyway? What’s with the mask coming back?_

Ojii-san’s calm tones: _Are Hollows not tied to place, to missing ‘home’?_

Oh fucking great. Now Ichigo had to check his feelings because he could go all Vizard/Vasto Lorde/Hollow King just at the thought of missing his dumb old high school.

_It’s just a theory._ Ojii-san counselled. 

But it was a good one. And worse, Ichigo wasn’t sure how to counter it. Just like some Plus-turned-Hollow, his Soul was attached to place. If he’d died in the basement of the shouten or on the streets of Karakura as a regular Soul, fuck yeah he’d be chained to that place. The only reason he wasn’t was because of Urahara’s magic and the fact that he’d had shit that needed doing, people to save. But Rukia was fine now, the Soul Society was good. No one needed him.

Yeah, if his Soul had its way, he’d totally be spooking up the clinic and hassling the twins right now… or maybe gnawing on some of those annoying tennis jocks from Class 1. 

_Mmmmm, tasty,_ Zangetsu agreed. _Let me at ‘em, King._

Ichigo ignored Zangetsu because he suddenly realized something about himself. Life mystery solved: _Why is my Soul a Hollow? (Yes, yes, Zangetsu, because you’re an awesome bundle of badassery)_. And, sure, Dad and Hat-and-Clogs had cooked up some Hollow-Quincy-Shinigami juju to save Mom, but Ichigo’s Soul could still have been anything, right? No reason he had to look like Old Horny just because of what two old men did. 

Zanpakutō spirits were supposed to reflect something about your true inner nature. Anyway, Zangetsu didn’t have horns. He was just Ichigo, Hollowfied.

Truth was: Ichigo’s heart would never be anywhere but Karakura Town.

His shinigami Soul was born pre-broken, his heart chained to Karakura, and knowing that it would never truly belong in the Soul Society, except as a substitute and an out-of-place monster.

_The strongest monster they’ve ever fucking seen._

Ichigo couldn’t help the slightly evil grin and snorted in agreement. “Damn straight.”

#

Not long after that some old guy showed up and introduced himself as Ichigo’s ‘substitute manservant.’ “Until the Shiba household can provide, of course.”

After a detour up to the dorm to grab Zangetsu, Ichigo followed the oji-san out into the grounds. “I’m pretty sure there’s no way auntie Kukaku is going break up those twins, seeing how they’re a matched set and all, and I didn’t see a lot of extra servants hanging around her ugly, moving house,” Ichigo said with a smile. “So, I think you’re stuck with me for the duration.”

Because apparently Kukaku was his aunt? 

Now that Ichigo thought about it Ganju did bear a certain uncanny resemblance to Dummo Dad. Huh. But, how was it that a bunch of dirt-farming, pig-riding, folk magic-users were some kind of special royalty? 

“Can I ask you something?” Ichigo said as they strolled through campus. Zangetsu on his back turned a few heads, but Ichigo ignored the stares and gawks. 

“Anything, my lord,” the old guy said with a dip of his head.

“What the hell are the True First?”

“I…” The old servant almost seemed to stumble, so Ichigo reached out a hand to steady him. “You don’t know?”

“I’m not from around here,” Ichigo let out a long sigh. He rubbed his face, pulling his fingers through his hair. “Plus, my dad told me shit--er, pardon the French, oji-san. What I mean is, I got nothing. Just assume I literally know nothing about my own heritage because… yeah, that’s entirely accurate. Both sides of the family: complete blank slates to me. I only recently heard how my dad met my mom. So….”

Ichigo trailed off, wondering why he was telling this random old guy his life story. The old guy patted Ichigo’s arm fondly, “Ah, it’s a classic tale, young master. The prince ignorant of his heritage, kept away in order to protect him from his enemies, to keep him pure--like England’s king, Arthur.”

“Um,” Ichigo frowned at the analogy. “I think you’re giving me too much credit there, oji-san.”

“I heard you defeated our great enemies: Aizen and Yhwach.”

“Technically, Urahara stopped Aizen. And Yhwach… that was definitely a team effort,” Ichigo said. 

This conversation was making Ichigo uncomfortable on a number of levels. First of all, he didn’t really think about himself as some kind of legend, and secondly, neither Yhwach nor Aizen were dead or even close to ‘defeated.’ For fuck’s sake, Aizen was writing letters to him! And, Yhwach was apparently the Soul King… which was kind of what Yhwach had wanted to start with….which would mean he won?

Ichigo’s head hurt. “Can we get back to the whole True First thing?”

“My apologies, young master. The True First are the highest of the noble clans, each one entrusted with a sacred duty bestowed upon them by the gods.”

Gods. Right. Because gods were real.

Still, here Ichigo was walking around in the Land of the Dead, so maybe some of that superstitious stuff was true. “So, what do the Shiba do?”

The old servant blinked. “I should think they guard the highway to heaven, m’lord, but you would have to ask the clan head, your father.”

Like Dummo Dad ever told Ichigo anything, and, anyway, he was swanning off in some American place that was a homonym to ‘good morning.’

They didn’t talk much on the rest of the walk. Ichigo spent his time alternately admiring the rusticness of the Soul Society and wishing to fuck there was just one overhead street light. Somehow Mayuri’s lab was full of computers, but did anyone else have electricity? 

No.

In fact, Ichigo had spent his first night in the dorm utterly baffled by the oil lamps. It was his version of a juice box, apparently, something everyone else seemed to do with ease that he could just not figure out no matter how hard he tried. Unlike with Rukia’s juice, not one of his so-called dorm mates offered advice or helped him out. Only through sheer determination and an accidental burst of Kidō, did Ichigo eventually work it out on his own. He was glad for it, too, because the stars were creepy. There were too few of them, for one, and, second, he was pretty sure if you stared up at the sky long enough, you could see the faint outline of Japan against the sea and its twinkling clusters of city lights.

Yeah, not going to think about that too hard. “Listen, ojii-san, you got a name or something I can call you?”

#

Soon, they were walking up to something out of a movie set. There was a stone raked garden for fuck sake and koi in an actual goddamn pond. They walked over one of those ridiculous arched bridges Ichigo had hitherto imagined only existed in storybooks and stood in front of rice-paper and cherry wood and way, way too much space for one kid from Karakura.

“I’m a tiny bit more social than this, Ryota-san,” Ichigo said, having learned the old servant’s given name on the way to this… mansion. Apparently, ‘humble accommodations’ meant as big as Ichigo’ entire house in Karakura, including the clinic. Only the whole place was one-hundred and fifty times more empty. The lines were clean, crisp, and all very Zen-whatever, looking very much like a place Byakuya would be super-comfortable in, but which made Ichigo want to run screaming into the woods. 

Ryota just smiled like Ichigo had made some pleasant remark and continued to explain Ichigo’s utter and complete social isolation. Meals would be delivered. Tutors came to him. 

Fuck, this wasn’t school any more, it was a higher education prison.

“Once word arrives that a Shiba has taken up residence, I’m sure you’ll get many requests for audiences,” Royta explained.

Audiences? Ichigo decided he didn’t want to know what that formal-ass shit would require. “Awesome,” he said, “but I won’t be answering anything addressed to Shiba. For the last freaking time, my name is Kurosaki. If people want ‘audiences’ with a Shiba, they should talk to Kukaku.”

The servant looked a little baffled, but bowed anyway. “It will be as you say, my lord.”

Except Ichigo was pretty sure it wouldn’t. He was going to be Shiba Ichigo from here on out. The headmaster couldn’t get over it and it was apparently some big ass deal to be one of these First Truly, or whatever. 

One more reason to want to sock Dummo Dad in the nose. 

Ryota was standing around looking awkward and Ichigo knew he should probably dismiss the old guy or send him to make a snack or something, but Ichigo had one more question about this Shiba thing. “So… you said my dad is the clan head?” Ryota nodded, so Ichigo continued, “I don’t think that can be right. He gave up his powers to save mom. He wasn’t a Shinigami, as such... I mean, I guess he got it back, but the point is -- shouldn’t this whole Shiba thing have passed on to whoever came next in the hierarchy?”

“Ah,” Ryota bowed his head again. “This a complex matter, my lord, but suffice to say that the Shiba were technically disgraced, removed from the annals of the True First.”

“Technically?”

“Clearly, there are many who still respect the Shiba history. Moreover, your family’s god-granted mandate has not passed on to any other family. Shiba still control access to the heavens.”

Ichigo scratched his head. “Are you talking about Kukaku’s canon?”

“And other things, my lord,” Ryota said slyly. 

Like Ganju’s weird-ass dirt magic, maybe, Ichigo mused. He had never run across anyone else who had anything like Ganju’s abilities and it wasn’t Kidō… or at least it didn’t seem to be. He wondered if Dad could do it. “I’d bet money he can.”

“I’m sorry, what, my lord?”

Before Ichigo could explain that he’d kind of been talking to himself a black butterfly wandered into the room through an open window. 

Seeing it, Ryota bowed and backed away, “Ah, a message. My lord may take it in private.”

“Thanks,” Ichigo said absently. Watching the butterfly flit around made Ichigo want to flatten it. Instead, he said, “Uh, hello?”

Suddenly, Aizen’s rich, deep laugh came through followed by, “Subtle and eloquent as ever, Kurosaki. Though I should tell you that you’re fortunate that this Hell butterfly wandered around the Twelfth long enough for me to intercept this missive before it made its way to Muken. Next time just tell it to find me. Hypnosis does not work on insects, even ones that are symbolic of the souls of the dead. I take it you found the bolthole alright? Perhaps this is some kind of awkward invitation, a desire for us to meet? I’m afraid I’m no longer versed in ‘teenage boy.’ If this proposition interests you, perchance you could grunt twice? I will take that as a yes and contrive to meet you at the hideaway tonight.”

Ichigo did kind of make a grunting noise, though it was maybe a little more of a ‘uuuuh’ of nervous apprehension. Worse, he’d made a second sound in surprise at his initial noise. The butterfly was already out the window before he thought to say, “Wait, um….”

Okay. So…. apparently, Ichigo had a date with Aizen tonight.

#

Ichigo kicked around the empty mansion, exploring every room. He never did find a TV, but he did figure out where he was supposed to pee and suddenly he missed home and goddamn modern conveniences so hard he had to pull the mask off his face again.

The last of the shattered bones disintegrated when Ryota-san made an announcement from the hallway, “Her ladyship Kuchiki Rukia to see his Lordship Shiba-Kurosaki Ichigo.”

“It’s just Kurosaki!” Ichigo said, but then realized he needed to add, “Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t make Rukia stand around on ceremony, send her in!”

The door slid open and Rukia stood there looking a little shell-shocked. She held a pad of drawing paper and thick markers. “Shiba? You… are you? Really… Shiba?”

“I guess?” Ichigo said. “Apparently, Dummo Dad was Captain Shiba, you know, before he…. left?”

He hadn’t meant to sound so hesitant, but most of the color had drained from Rukia’s face and she was staring at him like she was looking at a ghost. What the hell? Was there something else Ichigo didn’t know about being a Shiba? Was everyone going to react like this?

“Your dad was Kaien’s... uncle?” Rukia wondered.

“Who?”

That broke Rukia out of whatever spell she was under. Her face crumpled into a frown and she threw a marker at Ichigo’s head. “I told you about Kaien! It was kind of a defining moment for me, you insensitive boob! Were you spacing out? Or do you just suck that much at names?”

“That last one?” Ichigo smiled, coming up from the duck just in time to catch the drawing pad. It still came at his solar plexus at speed. Girl wasn’t pulling any punches. Not that she ever did, but still. “Look, I really, really suck at names, okay?”

Rukia took a breath. “Kaien was my lieutenant… at the Thirteenth,” she prompted with a meaningful look that all but screamed ‘you better fucking remember, pronto, because it’s too painful to tell again.’ 

Luckily, Ichigo did. Because, yeah, that was a hell of a story. “Oh,” he said, hugging the drawing pad. “Yeah. Him.”

“Yeah, him,” Rukia agreed, going across the room in her stocking feet to retrieve the marker. “So, Kaien is your cousin or what?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Ichigo said. “Dad never exactly told me any of this. I found out this whole Shiba thing from the headmaster, like, three hours ago. I don’t know how he knew. Maybe Dad went to this Academy?”

“There’s only one Academy, Ichigo,” Rukia said kindly. She’d come over to tug the drawing pad out of his hands. 

He let it go and followed her to where she sat on the floor, with her back against the wall. 

Laying the drawing pad against her upraised knees, Rukia flipped to a blank page. Ichigo sat close enough that their shoulders touched. When she uncapped the pen, he smelled that classic marker scent and had to clutch down on a wave of homesickness. 

The pen squeaked on the paper as Rukia started to draw. “I came here in-person because I thought I was going to have to do some damage control,” she said. Ichigo leaned in to try to see if he could guess what she was making. Maybe that blob was the Seireitei? Now, she was drawing rings out from the central blob. “But, as a Shiba…” her voice got kind of weird and soft at that name, “...you’ll be fine.” She finally stopped drawing consecutive circles. There was a lot of them and now she was dividing them into quadrants. “Remember what I taught you about human Souls and how they arrive in the Rukongai?”

Ichigo nodded. It was an early lesson. It involved rabbits. Very memorable. “Pluses move on, that’s why we konso them. They come here via the Rukongai.”

She nodded. Then she gave him a sad look, like she was embarrassed or ashamed of something. “I didn’t exactly tell you what the Rukongai was like. I was…” she broke eye contact and stared down at her picture now. The hand that gripped the marker had white knuckles. “I was afraid you wouldn’t send any Souls on, if you knew.”

Ichigo’s stomach tightened, remembering what Aizen had said. “Knew what?” He ran his finger around the huge set of circles around everything that wasn’t the center bullseye, the Seireitei, “That all these people are starving and living in squalor?”

Her thin, sculpted eyebrows raised in shock. “You knew?”

Ichigo shook his head. He’d seen the first district when he and the gang first came through to try to rescue Rukia, but it hadn’t seemed that bad to him. Rustic and rundown, but Kukaku had had food and everything in that weird traveling house of hers. “Not really,” Ichigo admitted. “Aizen told me. And, you know: Aizen. I wasn’t sure if I should believe anything he says.”

Rukia had raised her head to watch his expression, her lips thin at the mention of Aizen’s name. “Well, as much as I hate to agree with that bastard, it’s true.” Her pen jabbed at the lower rings. “It gets worse the further out from the center you go.” She made an ‘x’ on a ring that was just barely inside the last few circles, “This is Inuzuri.” 

Ichigo peered at the mark and then at her. “You came all that way? Alone?”

“No, Renji was with me,” Rukia said. 

Given how vast this district seemed to be, Ichigo couldn’t even begin to imagine how long the trip must have taken them. And the whole way without any food? “How did you survive?”

“That’s not really important,” Rukia looked away again in a way that made Ichigo think the opposite was true. But, she shrugged it off. Her eyes were flashing when she raised her head and said, “What I came to tell you, you great big idiot, is that you shouldn’t go around telling people you’re from so far away!” She lightly smacked his shoulder. “You’ll only get hassled about it!”

He nodded like he understood, but she really hadn’t told him anything important… or anything _at all_ , really. Other than to give him a visual of just how many people were living in abhorrent conditions, potentially all slowly starving to death. So, Rukia rushed out here for ‘damage control,’ huh? That term--’damage control’ wasn’t reassuring, actually. If anything, Ichigo felt something widen between them. Rukia still didn’t want him to know the truth. She was still afraid of him, of what he’d do, if he knew anything concrete about the conditions in the Rukongai.

It must be really fucking bad. Worse, it must be the kind of bad that would make Ichigo want to fix it.

Ichigo wondered if anyone would ever tell him.

Anyone besides Aizen, that was.

He stood up to stretch his legs. “How’s Renji doing, anyway?”

Rukia flattened her legs and flipped her drawing pad closed. Putting the cap back on her marker, she gave another little shrug, “Oh, you know him. I swear he thrives on being on death’s door. The nurses are slipping him sleeping pills to keep him from reporting for duty too soon.”

Sounded about right. “You hungry? Ryota-san seemed to think we could get take-out any time of day.”

“Take out?”

Ichigo nodded. “This noble campus has some kind of food delivery system, a central kitchen we can order from, but, unlike the Mess, they’re 24/7.”

“Nice for some,” she teased, taking the hand he offered to help her up off the floor.

“Says the Kuchiki,” Ichigo reminded her.

“I wasn’t a Kuchiki when I came to Academy,” Rukia said.

“No? What were you then?”

“Oh, well, Abarai,” she admitted.

“You and Renji have the same last name?” Ichigo was surprised. “You’re not related, are you? I mean, that’s a little awkward, because I think he kind of likes you, you know, romantically.” 

She smacked Ichigo again, this time on the top of the head. “Renji and I aren’t like that. At least… _I’m_ not,” she said a little less certainly. Then, frowning, she added, “Because, yes, I think of Renji as my brother--my little, annoying brother, if you must know. I mean, Ichigo, he and I, we grew up together. We were both Abarai…” She hesitated again, glancing away. A tell, Ichigo decided. There was more to this story that he’d never hear. “... because we were family, and needed a surname for the entry form to Academy.”

“Why Abarai? I mean, it’s kind of a weird choice isn’t it?”

Another glance at the floor, then the door, before coming back to him. “We just made it up. I don’t remember where it came from anymore.”

Another lie… or something she thought he couldn’t handle. It was Ichigo’s turn to frown and look away. He ran a hand through this hair and let out of a deep breath. “You staying for dinner or what?”

“Oh, um, well, I think nii-sama is expecting me….”

“Fine,” Ichigo said, only barely keeping the anger from his voice. “I’ve got…” he couldn’t exactly say ‘a date.’ Great, now they were both lying to each other. “.... homework, anyway.”

Rukia brightened at that. “Oh, yeah, I remember. The workload sucks, doesn’t it?”

“You think so?” Ichigo asked, as they walked towards the front entryway. “I mean, there’s not even cram school here. I feel like I have a ton of free time.”

Holding on to his arm to steady herself, she slipped into her sandals, “I guess I should have actually attended class in the Human World, huh?” she laughed. “Well, you’ll get used to things here.”

Nodding, Ichigo waved her good-bye. But he was thinking, _‘Nope. For a Hollow like himself, this place is Hell.’_

#

The idea of eating alone in this empty house just depressed Ichigo. So, he told Ryota-san that he had a study group and made his way out of the little guarded, gated community back towards the ‘real’ campus. 

At the mess hall, Ichigo managed to slide in the door just before they put up the sign that the kitchen was closing. At least here there was the white noise of conversation. Mindlessly, he filled his plate and picked an empty table.

Keeping his head down, Ichigo shoveled in the food mechanically, not really tasting it. He needed to figure out the library or borrow one of Aizen’s books, because sitting here staring at the ‘chef’s special’ was for chumps. Worse, he was getting PTSD flashbacks to middle school. Any minute now some bully would come by and ask him what was wrong with his hair and if he was some kind of ‘haifu.’ 

Weirdly, Ichigo kind of wished one of these cadets would start it up with him. The mood he was in would honestly be improved with a fight.

But he couldn’t start one. Not after today, not now that he was a ‘Shiba,’ because that would just make him the snot-nosed, noble bully. Of course, maybe no one started a fight because Ichigo had forgotten to leave Zangetsu behind. He wasn’t used to walking around the Soul Society without it yet.

Finished, he dumped his tray with the others and made his way outside. His feet dragged at the thought of headed back to that empty house. Ichigo glanced at the wall around the campus, thinking maybe he might just head out early for his meet-up with Aizen. A quick burst of shunpō had him over the wall in the blink of an eye.

And he ran straight into a fist.

At speeds, Ichigo was knocked back so hard, he left a crater in the Academy wall. He was blinking the stars from his eyes when he caught sight of a Grimmjow-shaped shadow bearing down on him from above. Aizen-trained instincts had a Kidō barrier up in a second. Boots landed on the barrier with a heavy thud that sent a shock down Ichigo’s upraised arm. Grimmjow crouched there, glaring at Ichigo through the triangular energy shield. “When the fuck you learn this trick, Kurosaki?”

His other hand reached for Zangetsu, which was good because holding complex spells in his head for too much longer was no go. In fact, he could sense it getting unstable. “You might want to jump off,” Ichigo pointed out, his voice strained with the effort to keep the Kidō solid. “For one, you’re heavy, and, two, when my spells go wonky, they usually explode.”

Grimmjow didn’t need more prompting than that, he leaped gracefully from the barrier and landed softly in the tall grasses. The second Ichigo’s Kidō dissipated, however, Grimmjow rushed in and caught Ichigo up by the collar, slamming him back into the wall. Ichigo brought Zangetsu up against Grimmjow’s side, which made Grimmjow’s eyebrow quirk and his face spread into a fang-toothed grin. “Love those eyes,” he smiled. But then leaned in and sniffed Ichigo’s body. 

Ichigo could feel Grimmjow’s breath on the exposed skin of his neck. Those weird blue hairs tickled Ichigo’s cheek. It was a way too intimate, so Ichigo pressed the blade deeper into Grimmjow’s side. “Too close! Back the fuck off, Grimmjow.”

With a little snarl, he let go of Ichigo’s collar and stepped back, “You stink of Aizen.”

Since he had no argument to the charge, Ichigo just shrugged and slipped Zangetsu back into their sheath on his back. The sun was setting. In the twilight, the white of Grimmjow’s short-sleeved jacket picked up a kind of reflective glow. “What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be terrorizing whoever is left in Hueco Mundo and not skulking around a school yard?”

“Not ‘skulking,’ I was lookin’ for my rematch.” Grimmjow gave a little toss of his head, like it was no big deal. Then he pointed a finger accusingly at Ichigo, “You’re the one leaking bursts of reiatsu, like some kind of lure fish.”

Lure fish? Other than the odd choice in metaphor, it was probably true. Ichigo had a tendency to do that even when he didn’t mean to. It was part of why he wasn’t allowed home anymore. It was maybe a little weird that Grimmjow was tracking them, but knowing Grimmjow, eh, not so much. “Yeah, I seem to have my mask back.”

“Awesome!” Grimmjow said, giving Ichigo that crazy-grin again. “Let’s do this.”

“Okay,” Ichigo agreed. “But we should probably move away from the Academy walls. I mean, you and me have a tendency to break… _everything_.”

Grimmjow stared at Ichigo for a beat.

“What?”

“Did you just say ‘yes’?”

“What of it?”

Grimmjow shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest, “I knew that Kidō was weird. You’re one of Aizen’s illusions! What have you done with the real Kurosaki Ichigo?”

“No, I swear, it’s really me,” Ichigo said, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment, “I just need to blow off some steam. School kind of sucks, you know? And it turns out, one of my best friends doesn’t really trust me, which… yeah. So I don’t want to kill you or anything, but stretching my muscles with a decent opponent would be pretty fucking awesome.”

Grimmjow looked a little dubious, but then nodded. “Fine. But Imma try to kill you.”

Ichigo gave Grimmjow a wan smile. “Yeah, I figured.”

#

The fight ended with Ichigo literally sitting on Grimmjow. A small grass fire spread out from the crater they were at the bottom of. “Look you moron,” Ichigo was yelling at a still struggling Grimmjow, “Your nose is broken and I think if you don’t stop flopping around you’re going to fucking bleed out. I didn’t mean to cut you that deep, but you’re supposed to stop when the blade is sticking out the otherside! I’m going to be late at this point and, unlike you, you fucking cat, I can’t see in the dark.”

“Sounds like an advantage for me, Kurosaki!” Grimmjow snarled. “Let me up, motherfucker!”

“No, because you’re just going to try to kill me again,” Ichigo said. He’d been trying to remember the fucking chant for the forced slumber spell for the last five minutes, but the only thing coming to Ichigo were the words to Hushaby, “Nennen korori yo, Okorori yo.  
Bōya wa yoi ko da, Nenne shina~” 

Yet, there was Grimmjow closing his eyes. 

Was he passing out from bloodloss or did Ichigo somehow trigger the spell? He couldn’t help but shake Grimmjow’s shoulders a little. “Hey, you okay?”

“Don’t wake him,” Aizen’s voice made Ichigo jump. He glanced over his shoulder to see Aizen standing over the pit. He wore Mayuri’s uniform, but had removed the hat and scrubbed the make-up from his face. He’d missed a few spots--there was a dark smudge alongside his nose and white smeared under his chin. His brown curls hung wetly around the edges of his face, “I only just got him under.”

Ichigo stood up and quickly dropped out of bankai. Even though Grimmjow said he thought he looked ‘sexy’ Ichigo wasn’t as sure he liked the whole giant Hollow horn/painted face look. It fucked up his hair too, which was a stupid bankai power. He tried to fix it now, grateful that fingers found longer locks over his forehead again. “Can you heal him?”

Aizen’s lips pursed. It was clear he didn’t want to. 

“I’m not leaving him here,” Ichigo insisted.

Letting out a long sigh, Aizen grudgingly waved Ichigo aside. “Very well. But he won’t appreciate it.”

Ichigo clambered out of the way so Aizen could jump down into the shallow crater. The grass fire had become nothing more than a smolder. Ichigo worked on stamping out the remaining flames, while Aizen flooded Grimmjow’s body with green healing energy. Ichigo watched Aizen work. Hands moved confidently over Grimmjow’s battered body, touching lightly, gently. The dark kanji twelve was a stark contrast to the white of his haori, yet Aizen looked natural in the uniform. He must have adjusted the length and fit, as it no longer looked too tight across the shoulders. 

Aizen must have felt Ichigo’s gaze on him, because he glanced up. “He’ll live. I suppose you’ll insist on bringing him along to the bolthole?”

“Yeah, can we?”

Aizen let out another long-suffering sigh and hefted Grimmjow into his arms. “But of course. It’s your place now. Your rules.”

“Cool,” Ichigo nodded. He glanced around at the devastation and tugged on his ear, “I’d ask you how you found us, but….”

“Yes, Grimmjow’s grand rey cero is rather distinctive. It’s quite possible the entire Seireitei observed it, given that it filled the night sky,” Aizen said drily. “And, how very interesting that you could counter with your own. Is that new?”

“Kinda,” Ichigo admitted. “Comes with the horn, I think.”

“Mmmm,” Aizen nodded. Then, glancing at Ichigo briefly, “But no hole?”

Ichigo scratched at the spot where his Vasto Lorde form had had one, “Uh, not in bankai.”

“Because this is your bankai now? I see,” Aizen said, though he was frowning thoughtfully. “I’m a little surprised that your zanpakutō allows your Hollow nature to--”

“Zangetsu is the Hollow,” Ichigo cut him off.

Aizen actually faltered a step. As Aizen turned to peer into Ichigo’s face, Grimmjow’s head flopped against Aizen’s chest and he made a little grasping motion with his hand in his sleep. After shushing Grimmjow like a sleeping baby, Aizen quietly asked, “Are you suggesting that your zanpakutō spirit is a Hollow?”

“Not just suggesting, it is--always has been, from the start. I just didn’t know it for awhile because there was… well, a Yhwach insert between us, I guess? And, so at first I wasn’t really using Zangetsu, even though I thought I was, but it’s okay now, because we’re all reconciled after that weird fight with Oetsu’s asauchi...” Ichigo tried to explain, but he gave up with a little shrug. “The point is, yeah, my Shinigami Soul is Hollow. And Quincy now, but, I dunno how that works exactly.”

“Neither do I,” Aizen agreed with a little snorting laugh. “In fact it shouldn’t work at all. But, then you’ve always been the exception to every rule, Kurosaki Ichigo.”

Ichigo couldn’t stop himself from poking Aizen’s shoulder, “What’s this? I thought you knew everything about me.”

A slight smile graced Aizen’s lips, “Apparently not.”

“Ha!” Ichigo said triumphantly.

“Mmmmm, if it’s going to be like this, I need tea,” Aizen said. “Let’s shunpo.”

#

Aizen managed to find a futon that had not been colonized by mice, though the blanket they covered Grimmjow with was moth-eaten and threadbare. “I should have thought to brought replacements.”

“You mean like the vending machine candy?”

Aizen gave Ichigo a penetrating look, but Ichigo didn’t blink. Eventually, Aizen said, “Yes. Just so.”

“So you admit it? You totally restocked this place with chocolate when you offered it to me,” Ichigo said, feeling pretty smart for having figured it out. With a stick, he stoked the fire they’d started in the irori. 

“Yes,” Aizen said. He worked the water pump until rusty water came up and used that to clean out the tea kettle he’d pulled from the back of a cabinet. Once the water ran clean, he filled the kettle. “Though I bought the candy from Urahara Shouten, not a vending machine.”

“You bold son of a bitch,” Ichigo whistled. Then he shook his head, “Why would you take the risk? What if he’d seen through you?”

“The shopkeeper was not around,” Aizen admitted. Hanging the filled kettle on a chain, he lowered it closer to the flames. “But, yes, it was profoundly foolish. I have… impulses that I can not always keep in check, particularly now that I find myself without Gin and Kaname as sounding boards.”

Ichigo poked the logs. It was weird to think of Aizen grieving his friends. Fuck, it was weird to think of Aizen having friends. “Gin was a creep. I don’t know how you could stand him.”

Aizen settled down on the floor, cross-legged, opposite Ichigo. “Ichimaru Gin fascinated me. His desire to bring me down, his murderous attachment to me early on… flattered me, given his true nature.”

“Snake?”

“Fox,” Aizen said. “Kitsune.”

Ichigo shook his head, “No, you’re wrong. I clashed with Shinso. Definitely snake.”

Aizen let out an exasperated cluck of his tongue, “Yes, yes! Yes, Shinso was a snake. For god’s sake, why is it so difficult for people to understand that Gin was a fox with a snake soul. We have, in our ranks, Komamura who is a wolf with a human soul. Abarai is a shinigami with a nue demon soul. Bright Buddha, this is not complex.”

Ichigo gave Aizen a look. “You’ve had this argument before, I take it?”

Aizen tipped his head. “Kaname refused to believe it--for years, despite mounting evidence. He kept pressuring me to let the hogyoku transform Gin. He refused to see the inherent danger in Hollowfying a nine-tailed fox. We argued about it, constantly. Believe me, Gin had plenty of power without needing a boost,” Aizen touched his chest, where the hogyoku was still lodged. “He stole it, that foxy thief. By rights, he should have won--like in the storybooks, he should have brought down the arrogant samurai.” Picking up the tea tin he’d set beside him, he began to fill the tea ball. Aizen let out a little breath. “In truth, only a miracle saved me.”

That was a hella admission. “You’re in a funny mood,” Ichigo said, tossing the stick into the crackling fire. “Everything okay?”

“Mayuri is a horrible person,” Aizen said. “I thought that would make it easier, somehow. But, I can’t even strike up a pleasant conversation with my Third Seat about the weather without being asked if I’m unwell. It seems his clone daughter was his only friend. Her rebirth will take some time, and, in the meantime, I find I’m unused to so much solitude.”

Seriously? Aizen was lonely? 

Ichigo almost made a snotty comment about it, because, once again, this could not be coincidental, given how he’d been feeling the EXACT SAME WAY all day. But, then he remembered Kyoka Suigetsu and that profoundly heavy sense of being alone it had left him with.

“Previously, even during my great deception, I always had Kaname and Gin, who knew my true nature. And, of course, the mild-mannered Captain Aizen, unreal though he may have been, had plenty of colleagues with whom to socialize,” Aizen smiled a little nostalgically. “Mayuri can hardly form a book club without raising suspicion. Most people would assume he was luring them to the dissection table. Alas.”

“Boo fucking hoo,” came Grimmjow’s sleepy snarl. Ichigo turned in time to see him struggling upright. “Stop playing martyr, you fucking prick. Ain’t no one fool enough to buy your bullshit. I shoulda figured you were still above the ground. Urahara said I should keep my nose out for your stench.”


	3. A Game of Cat and Mouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimmjow is on to them. Will Aizen be able to sweet talk his way out of this? Or is it already too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I fix at least two of the terrible things done to strong female characters in canon.

Ichigo’s heart jumped to his throat. 

Grimmjow knew. 

Cautiously, Ichigo put a hand on Zangetsu, though who he was going to defend if things came to blows, he suddenly didn’t know. He glanced at Aizen, expecting to see him rising to his feet ready for a fight or gearing up to vaporize Grimmjow with Kidō or something. 

Instead, Aizen lazily poked at the embers. “I see our sleeping beauty has awoken,” he said pleasantly. “I trust your wounds are all healed?”

“You fucking deaf, Aizen?” Grimmjow snarled, wobbling to his feet. The blanket slipped from his shoulders to pool at his booted feet. “I’m going to tell the whole gods-damn Gotei you’re still above the ground and they’re gonna drag your ass back to prison.”

“I highly doubt it.” Aizen gave Grimmjow the barest side-eye, before returning his attention to the firepit. “Sit down before you fall down Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. You were no match for me before I merged with the hōgyoku. What exactly do you think you can accomplish now?”

Knowing exactly what was going to happen next, Ichigo flashed upright and caught up the spitting-mad Grimmjow in his arms before he could try to tear Aizen’s face off. Cripes, what was Aizen doing? Trying to provoke this maniac? And, WTF, why wasn’t Aizen more nervous about this threat? “Um, aren’t you even a little worried?” Ichigo asked over the sound of Grimmjow’s hissing growls. Grimmjow fought him, muscles straining, but Ichigo held him back. “I mean, Grimmjow could spill the beans, right? That’d be bad for you.”

“Yeah,” Grimmjow shouted, an arm escaping Ichigo’s grip enough to gesture rudely at Aizen. “What he says.”

Straightening his uniform, Aizen slowly stood up. In his arms, Ichigo could feel Grimmjow tense, like he wanted to back away, but wouldn’t allow himself to. Grimmjow’s fingernails dug into Ichigo’s biceps as Aizen turned to regard them with that impenetrable expression of his. “If you think they will believe you, Espada,” he stressed that word slightly before continuing. “Go on then, run back to your new masters.” Aizen’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Yes, perhaps you should. The result could serve as an abject lesson for Kurosaki in what passes as Seireitei justice.”

The fight seemed to leave Grimmjow in a breath. “Urahara’d believe me,” he pouted, pushing away from Ichigo’s restraint. “Urahara could take you down.”

Aizen nodded thoughtfully as he bent down to gather up the tea tray. It was clearly a deliberate gesture that said, ‘I can turn my back on you without fear,’ and Grimmjow squinted murderously at Aizen before jamming his hands into the pockets of his jumper and trying to take on a posture of disinterest. 

“Urahara Kisuke is certainly a constant thorn in my side,” Aizen said, carefully cleaning out the teapot with the sleeve of his shitagi. “However, even he remains an outsider--an outlaw--in the eyes of the Gotei. Kurotsuchi Mayuri is, inexplicably, well regarded. Even if he were not, I have the full power of Kyoka Suigetsu at my command. They believed themselves victorious over me. To believe otherwise is to admit failure, weakness… and, dare I say, stupidity. Their ego is my advantage.”

“You could shut the fuck up at any point,” Grimmjow snapped. “I get it already.”

“As long as we’re clear, Jaegerjaquez,” Aizen said in that nearly emotionless way he had that somehow, still bore a sharp edge.

“Go fuck yourself,” Grimmjow said.

“Good,” Aizen said as though Grimmjow had agreed, and knowing Grimmjow, Ichigo figured he basically had. 

Grimmjow plunked down on the floor, cross-legged, and shrugged back under the blanket like he was trying to hide under it. His whole body language reminded Ichigo of a cat who, having made some kind of dumb ass move, furiously licked its tail in a ‘I meant that to happen’ kind of way. 

Aizen, meanwhile, continued to silently clean the tea things and put them away. Ichigo was usually shit at reading reiatsu, but you’d have to be a moron not to feel the uptick in Aizen’s pressure. He was at the ready, his power solid and heavy, almost like a physical wall--even now, ‘untapped.’ 

Ichigo rubbed his hair, trying to shake out his own tension. “I gotta tell you,” Ichigo said, “It don’t feel exactly right being on the other side from Hat ’n Clogs.”

“Yeah, the fuck, Kurosaki?” Grimmjow snarled. “I never figured you for an Aizen lackey.”

Ichigo’s first impulse was to tell Grimmjow exactly where he could shove it. But, Grimmjow’s glare was daring him to give the accusation a serious thought, like saying, ‘what, you too much of a scaredy cat to think too hard about it?’ Okay, fine, asshole. Let’s do this. 

Right, so a lackey… was like a minion, right? A minion was person who followed blindly. Had Ichigo been doing that with Aizen? 

Well, yeah. Sometimes. 

But, it was kind of in Ichigo’s nature to go with the flow and just defend anyone who needed defending... and somehow that had ended up being Aizen this time. Ichigo had squared off against the Soul Society in the past and it had never, ever been the wrong call.

Yeah, except now he was lying to his friends. Or letting Ishida lie and not correcting him---the point was, there was stuff unsaid, important stuff, and that was new and uncomfortable.

In fact, it felt like a hard, cold lump in his stomach. No way Ichigo could keep this up forever. He was bad at lying, for one. Urahara, for all his faults, had never expected Ichigo to lie to anyone or keep secrets--though, it wasn’t like Urahara didn’t keep his own council on most things. That man’s secrets had secrets.

Gods damn it.

Ichigo glanced at Aizen, who was still pretending to ignore them while having his defenses dialed to 103.

Why did it have to be Aizen? Normally, when Ichigo jumped in, unthinking, he could trust his heart to lead the way. With Aizen? Aizen had a way of twisting everything up. His instincts still had him standing here, in Aizen’s bolthole, keeping Grimmjow from tearing off Aizen’s face, but… for the first time in his life, Ichigo wasn’t sure where the right path was. 

“Yeah, I don’t fucking know,” Ichigo said eventually. He jabbed his finger at where Aizen had settled on an open window frame. “This guy… Well, I don’t have to tell you about this guy,” Ichigo said. “But, I saw it with my own eyes, the whole thing with Yhwach’s corpse. There’s something rotten in the Seireitei and everyone’s fucking ignoring it and that’s not okay.”

Grimmjow snorted and shook his head. “There’s always been something rotten in the Soul Society. This is business as usual.”

“Indeed,” Aizen muttered.

“I’m not fucking agreeing with you, dickface,” Grimmjow snapped.

Aizen raised an eyebrow and let out a sigh. “You’re right. I was agreeing with you, Jaegerjaquez. The Soul Society is continuing on as it always has. There is a sickness on the Empty Throne and the execution grounds are being rebuilt bigger and more efficient. The Quincy have all but been exterminated. The Captain-Commander has neutralized Kurosaki’s influence by making him a traditional soldier in the Gotei, sworn to uphold the law of the land and protect the Soul King at all costs.”

Ichigo frowned at all that, the way Aizen said it really did paint his friends as the villains. 

Grimmjow laughed, surprising them both. “Ah, man,” Grimmjow said, “This is hilarious. You ever really fought this kid, Aizen? This chess board ain’t gonna go how you think. This pawn,” Grimmjow jabbed a finger at Ichigo, “Ain’t black or white. This little shithead can’t get it in his head that I fucking hate him. You want to turn him against one of those shinigami pals of his that he actually likes? Good luck, asshole.”

“Bridges will be crossed,” Aizen said with a soft, deadly smile, “When we come to them. In the meantime, Ichigo needs to graduate from Academy and I have a research and development division to run.”

Grimmjow frowned looking confused. “That’s all you got? That’s your evil plan for world domination.”

“It’s a long game, Jaegerjaquez,” Aizen said. “Not everything is won with sound and fury.”

Grimmjow flopped backwards, sprawling out on the tatami. “I fucking hated working for you. I still fucking hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Aizen said, although he sounded amused.

#

In the end, Grimmjow promised to keep Aizen’s secret so long as Ichigo agreed to fight him every so often. Given that Ichigo figured it was the only real way he’d stay in decent fighting form, he agreed. After all that excitement, it was kind of a letdown for Ichigo to make his way back to his new digs. He didn’t mean to sound all whiny, but when Aizen asked about his day, Ichigo glumly spat: “They put me in noble housing.”

Aizen, who had agreed to accompany him part of the way back toward Academy, raised his eyebrows. “That’s interesting. I wonder why?”

“I guess my dad is some kind of Yours Truly, a Shiba---”

Aizen cut him off, with an impatient wave of his hand. “Yes, of course. Everyone knew that. I meant that I’m surprised that the Captain-Commander is letting that bit of information circulate, especially this far out where the Shiba name is still respected. What do you suppose he’s up to?” Aizen didn’t seem to be asking Ichigo, since he answered himself. “Perhaps Kyōraku is worried that you will be unable to keep the secret that you’ve come directly from the Human World and is attempting to establish your credentials as ‘belonging’ here.”

“Why would that matter?” And, anyway, Kyouraku was doing a piss poor job of it, considering he hadn’t let Ichigo know what the game was.

Aizen’s mouth went thin. His captain’s haori flapped in the evening breeze. “If I tell you, you’ll only accuse me of attempting to sway your opinion to the negative about the Soul Society, but, surely, you’ve noticed a… class distinction among your colleagues at Academy?”

They walked under a stand of pine trees, the scent of crushed needles underfoot. Ichigo was beginning to think Aizen spied on him twenty-four seven. Of course he’d noticed! That could have been today’s fucking theme! “Nope,” Ichigo’s sarcasm dripped, “I mean, there’s hardly any difference at all between the place they have me now and the first year dorm. Whatever could you be talking about?” 

Aizen’s chuckle was knowing. “Mmmm. Well, I’m sure you’ll discover it for yourself soon enough, Shiba-dono.”

Something about the way Aizen said that made Ichigo give him a long, intense side-eye. “I swear to all the gods that if I find out you were the architect behind my family’s fall from grace, I’m gonna kill you.”

Aizen laughed.

It wasn’t a nice sound at all.

#

Aizen put Ichigo in a bad enough mood that he decided he needed to spend some time in company before heading back to his new lonely estate. He stopped by his old dorm room to let what-was-his-name? Orochi? know that he’d moved out. 

When he stuck his head in, Ichigo was surprised to find a huge confab going down. Half the first year boys must have been jammed in the tiny room and a few of the upperclassmen, too. The roommate spotted him and waved him, “We were just talking about what happened to you!”

Great.

A big guy, built a little like Renji--all tall and lean--came over to happily slap Ichigo on the back, “You were amazing in zanjutsu. How much can I pay you to tutor me?”

“Oi,” said some angry-looking dark haired kid slouching against the wall near the back of the room, “My money still says he’s been chucked out.”

“Have you been expelled?” Roommate wanted to know. “Did you really kick zanjutsu-sensei’s ass?”

Ichigo raised his hands for order when everyone started talking at him at once. “I haven’t been expelled. They just… I got… moved.” He really did NOT want to tell these people he was some kind of royalty. “I caused too much trouble. The headmaster figured it was for the best.”

Big not-Renji guy looked concerned. “Wait, there’s some kind of lower school for delinquents? Are you saying I could get demoted?”

“Yeah, uh… not exactly,” Ichigo said. 

“Why are you hesitating to tell them the truth, Shiba?” Wouldn’t you know it, it was Budger. His hair was out of the super-long braid and it hung straight and perfect all the way to his butt. He’d be pretty if he wasn’t such a raging dickface. When everyone looked at Budger, he explained, “Kurosaki-kun is actually Shiba-sama, the firstborn of a True First family. He’s been moved to noble housing.”

Everyone turned to look at Ichigo.

He readied himself for a fight. But, not-Renji shook his head. “You’re full of shit, Mori-kun. This guy? A noble? You saw him fight! Dude is a brawler. And, anyway,” not-Renji turned to Ichigo, “I thought you said you were from Inuzuri.”

Ichigo thought about all the lies he’d been telling lately, and he sat down cross-legged at the threshold of his old dorm room. “You guys got time? Because I’ve got a story for you that you won’t even believe. It all starts in the Human World and a girl I think is a samurai cosplayer…..”

#

Ichigo was right about one thing, his classmates didn’t believe a word of it. But it felt amazing to tell the whole damn truth. Sure, he’d left off a bunch of stuff, including how Aizen was running around in disguise, but most of the kids in his class were scratching their heads at the mention of his name, anyway. 

Apparently the other thing they didn’t teach at Academy: _history_.

#

Having made his way back to his new digs late, Ichigo slept fitfully. He was still staring at the ceiling wishing to fuck he had a mind-numbing video game to play when the first morning light peeked in. Giving up, he got dressed and hunted down the old servant, Ryota-san. He found him in the back kitchen, eating porridge. The old guy jumped to his feet in surprise to see Ichigo. “Master Kurosaki! What can I do for you?”

Ichigo plunked down on the rough hewn bench across from him. Ryota sat down, clearly a little hesitant about the proper hierarchy of the situation, Ichigo couldn’t muster more than a wave of his hand in a ‘it’s fine for fuck’s sake sit down’ gesture. Slumping forward until hif forehead touched the table, Ichigo said, “I got to have something to do. When do my tutors arrive?”

“Not for hours yet, m’lord.”

Shit. He knew it. Squinting up at Ryota from the crook of his arm, Ichigo asked: “Is there…” He tried to think of rustic chores, “...firewood to chop? Brush to clear?”

Ryota opened his mouth, but didn’t seem to know what to say.

“I’m desperate here, Ryota-san. Please? I need something physical. I’m just not the sitting around reading poetry type.”

Ryota smiled kindly and patted Ichigo’s head. “No, you’re a Shiba. Come. I have just the thing for you.”

That was how, three hours later, Ichigo was sweaty and shirtless when the first tutor of the morning approached him. Ryota had found a brush pile in need of breaking down into usable firewood and Ichigo had been snapping and chopping at it for hours. 

“Excuse me, is your master about?”

Finally! A tutor! Ichigo looked up to see a very tidy, scholarly looking young man. Probably, it was the tiny round glasses and armful of books that gave off that last impression. “You’re here for Kurosaki...or Shiba Ichigo?” When the little man nodded, Ichigo set down the axe and shrugged back into his kosode, which clearly showed off the blue Academy stripe. “That’d be me.”

The tutor’s eyes went wide and his mouth twisted in a grimace. “I… are you sure?”

“Am I sure of my own name?” Ichigo couldn’t quite suppress a laugh, but the guy did have a point. Ichigo scrubbed the leaves and wood chips from his hair as he talked. “Yeah, I mean, the Shiba thing is new, but basically, yeah. I’m Ichigo, always been that. And, trust me, there’s not a lot of dudes named ‘strawberry’... er, first protector, whatever, but let’s get real--everyone teased me about the berry thing. It’s been a pain in the ass my whole life.”

The tutor’s mouth continued to hang open. 

“Um, are you here to teach me something? Should we have Ryota-san fetch us tea up at the house?”

The little tutor blinked as though waking up. His mouth snapped closed and he dropped into a deep bow. “Eguchi Hiromitsu,” he said. “My services are a gift from the Kuchiki household, specifically the archives. I will be teaching you noble history.”

“Byakuya sent you?” Frantic nodding confirmed. Oh. A Kuchiki. No wonder the poor kid looked so shell-shocked. Ichigo gave him a clap on the shoulder. “I’ll try not to swear so much.”

“That would be… very helpful, my lord.”

#

“So, does anyone know what happened to the Shiba?” Ichigo asked Eguchi once they were settled in one of the huge, empty rooms. Ryota, bless his soul, brought up a full breakfast, which Ichigo dug into like a starving man. Eguchi seemed distinctly uncomfortable sharing food with him, but Ichigo had insisted.

“Of course, my lord, it’s a matter of record,” Eguchi said nibbling delicately on the monkfish. “Conjugation with Quincy is strictly forbidden.”

“You talking about my mom?”

Eguchi paled, his chopsticks trembled slightly in his hand. “Erm, uh….”

Ichigo decided to let the guy off the hook on that one. “But, that was only, like, eighteen years ago. That’s, like, yesterday in Soul Society time, and how does it even happen? Getting disbarred from this Sincerely Truly thing?”

“True First,” Eguchi corrected. “A council of nobles makes that decision.”

“True First nobles, they’re the ones who decided?” Ichigo helped himself to a few more pickled onions and a big portion of rice.

“Yes, only the True First can decide the fate of its peers.”

“Uh-huh. Seventeen years ago. Was Byakuya clan head seventeen years ago?”

To his credit, Eguchi could see where this line of questioning was going. He set down his chopsticks and squared his shoulders. “Yes. Kuchiki-sama has been clan head for over fifty years. He voted against your family. The Shihōin, longtime Shiba allies, were, unfortunately, at that time, represented by a regent, as their clan head was similarly outlawed, and they, too, voted for disgrace. The vote was unanimous. It had to be, or it would not have passed.” 

Ichigo nodded along at the appropriate places.

"You should know, the Shiba were always… outliers,” Eguchi continued. “They refused to settle inside the walls of the Seireitei, and, instead, allied themselves with the Rukongai. It was an unpopular move at a time when the Court of Pure Souls was being established. When pureness was… cherished, the Shiba chose to be more… open in their marriage alliances. It didn’t take much to turn the rest of the nobility against them. In many ways, your father’s alliance with the Quincy was merely the last straw in a long series of… marital missteps. Er, from the point of view of the nobles, that is.”

If Ichigo was supposed to be offended, he felt the opposite. Good on the Shiba for not being pricks about all this ‘pure blood’ bullshit. Anyway, he could have told Eguchi that his family valued marriages of love. Dad was constantly pushing romance at Ichigo.

Knowing that Byakuya had voted against him annoyed Ichigo a little, but it wasn’t like he could imagine a universe where Dummo Dad and stuffy-ass Byakuya were besties, so it was kind of understandable that Byakuya’d cast a ‘no’ vote. Especially since old Byakuya was all about upholding the law, no matter how stupid it was. 

Ichigo hunted around any remaining scrap of food, finding nothing, he sat back. He’d have to ask Ryota for something more, later. The fight with Grimmjow had depleted his stores. “Is that why we’re so strong, the Shiba? And, our weird dirt magic, does that come from all these ‘marital missteps’?”

Eguchi sucked in a horrified breath. “Ah… I... I couldn’t say, my lord. I’m not entirely certain that the Shiba shared their family’s lineage with the archives. I could… check? I… what is this ‘dirt magic’ you’re referring to, my lord?”

“Oh,” Ichigo frowned. “I bet it’s illegal or something, because it’s not Kidō.” Last thing Ichigo wanted to do was get his own family in trouble. Of course, the Gotei would have to catch one of them and auntie Kukaku’s house moved around, and Ganju… “Yeah, Ganju’s a weird one. Why do you suppose his zanpakutō stays broken? I guess Oetsu said something about how you can’t fix bankai, but, does that mean Ganju has bankai? Holy shit, man. There’s a terrifying thought!”

Eguchi listened intently, and Ichigo had the sense that his hands itched to take notes. “You’ve been to the Royal Realm?”

“There and back again,” Ichigo nodded. “Can’t say I enjoyed it.”

“I see,” Eguchi said with the kind of deep and inconsolable grief of a scholar denied his favorite research subject. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to describe what you remember, for the archives?”

“I’m pretty shit with names and details.”

Eguchi looked, somehow, even sadder. “Even so, my lord. Any information is appreciated.”

#

Eguchi spent hours teasing information out of Ichigo. In fact, Ichigo was kind of surprised that no other tutors came to interrupt them. When he said as much to Eguchi, he found out why. “Who else have you hired?”

“‘Hired’?” Ichigo sputtered. “You mean I have to pay for my own teachers?”

“But, of course, my lord!” Eguchi looked a little taken aback, although Ichigo was beginning to think that was his default. Resting WTF face. 

“Okay,” Ichigo said with a sigh. “Any chance you have a clue how I’m supposed to do that?”

#

There were forms. Many, many forms. And then there were the arguments.

“Why can’t I hire Kenpachi to teach me zanjutsu?” Ichigo asked. He leaned on the edge of the Western-style desk, this close to shouting in the headmaster’s face.

The headmaster frowned, tapping his meaty finger on some fine print on the form Ichigo had just filled out in triplicate, by hand. Ichigo’s fingers still cramped. “It says ‘qualified.’” The headmaster insisted. “Kenpachi Zaraki has not been Academy trained.”

Ichigo smacked the flat of his hand on the same spot angrily. “If it says ‘qualified,’ how is it physically possible that THE Kenpachi isn’t qualified to teach fighting? He’s literally the strongest fighter in the Gotei, in the whole Soul Society. That’s his actual motherfucking title.”

“Now, now, no need for rudeness,” the headmaster said. “If you insist on the Kenpachi, you can hire him. It’s your money. However, the Academy won’t recognize those credits.”

Ichigo stepped back and slapped his own forehead, hard. “You mean, I’d fail zanjutsu?” Taking a long, steadying breath to let go of his anger, Ichigo thought about this for a minute. Did it really matter if he passed all his classes? It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to use a zanpakutō; it wasn’t like he didn’t already have bankai. What was it Dummo Dad always said, ‘grades are shit!’ “I guess I don’t care. Can I graduate without zanjutsu?”

“No,” the headmaster said firmly.

Kyōraku had impressed upon Ichigo that it was important for him to graduate from Academy. Ichigo had asked the Captain-Commander why he couldn’t just join the Gotei. Kenpachi would have taken him into the Eleventh without hesitation. So why not just be a soldier from the get-go? But, Kyōraku made it a condition. He’d insisted that all this substitute soul reaping hadn’t helped; it was jumping the gun. Now that he was here, full-time, Ichigo needed to do things properly, learn how to be a shinigami the same way everyone else had. Kyōraku said that he didn’t like being such a hardass, but he wouldn’t let Ichigo be in the Gotei without a certificate of graduation. 

“Fine,” Ichigo said. “But I don’t want to redo these forms, can I just add a name?”

Compromise seemed to have been reached, the headmaster smiled. “Of course. There’s no restriction on how many teachers you can hire for a single subject.”

#

“My, my, I’m surprised to find myself in such august company!” Kyōraku said the next day, when Ichigo showed up at the Eleventh Division’s dojo. He leaned against the open doorway, one hand casually resting on the hilts of his zanpakutō, the other tipping up his straw traveling hat to peer amusedly at Ichigo. “Whatever made you think of me, Mr. Ichigo?”

Ichigo unsheathed his blades. 

“Ah, I see,” Kyōraku smiled. “Two.”

 _Plus,_ Ichigo thought, but didn’t say, _You’re the asshole who insisted I get a proper Academy degree_.

“Are we gonna fight or what?” Kenpachi sat in the bleachers, his ragged zanpaktō--which Ichigo guessed had a name now or something?--resting across his lap. Yachiru danced around beside him, braiding little bits of his hair. Ichigo was glad to see her. He’d heard some rumor about her disappearing on the battlefield.

It was weird, but Ichigo would have swore to all the gods that the tune Yachiru was humming under her breath was echoed by Kenpachi’s zanpakutō.

There was also something odd about Kenpachi’s impatience. Ichigo couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It wasn’t like Kenpachi was usually a ball of sunshine, but he seemed to be slumped there, his arms resting on his knees, just staring into the middle distance. Did he seem kind of sad? Well, maybe it was peacetime. From what Ichigo could tell, Kenpachi never seemed to know what to do when there wasn’t something to kill. 

Maybe offering to fight would make him happier. “Yeah, let’s do it,” Ichigo said with some trepidation. He didn’t know why, but a rematch with Kenpachi had always scared him a little. He’d faced down Yhwach and Grimmjow, and yet, somehow, this guy terrified him. Ichigo cleared his throat. “I should maybe warn you? I have a new bankai.”

After giving Yachiru a paternal pat on the head, Kenpachi pulled himself up to his massive height. Bouncing his zanpakutō on his shoulder jauntily, that familiar, terrifying crazy evil grin split his face. “Yeah, well, me too.”

#

Ichigo definitely learned some stuff. Like, how handy it was that Kyōraku could pop out of a shadow and come between him and that rage machine that was the unstoppable oni of Kenpachi’s bankai. Shit. Grimmjow had been easier than this, and Grimmjow was an Espada.

“Alas, it’s frowned upon to kill one’s student, Kenpachi-sensei,” Kyōraku was saying with amusement. His posture was relaxed, arms crossed with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his uniform, but Kenpachi had jumped back immediately, and was now staring angrily at the door. There was some weird tension here. Ichigo could feel it thrumming in the air between the two captains. Letting out another belly laugh, Kyōraku added, “Also, instruction usually requires at least some words, which you currently seem incapable of.”

“Fuck off.”

“Besides those two,” Kyōraku chuckled. “Come now, let me take over. We are both the boy’s instructors, after all. You can’t hog him all day.”

Kenpachi was clearly coming down from it, because his face was returning to its normal color. “Whatever. I’m going to get a drink.”

“And candy!” Yachiru added happily, clambering onto Kenpachi’s back. Where the hell had she been hiding? But, she waved so happily to them as Kenpachi stomped off that Ichigo found himself smiling and waving back, despite the fact that he was lying flat on his back on the mats, bleeding.

“He nearly killed me,” Ichigo croaked.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re already dead,” Kyōraku said, crouching down to inspect Ichigo’s wounds. 

“No, it’s not that,” Ichigo said, pulling himself upright with a grunt. His side felt like it had been run through a meat grinder. That new shikai of Kenpachi’s was hella sharp. “I’m only half-dead. What gives? Is Kenpachi okay? He seems kind of down.”

Kyōraku’s bushy eyebrows rose and he sat back on his feet. “Ho ho, Kisuke told me you were observant like this. Still, I have to admit, I’m surprised you noticed. Yes, the Kenpachi is hurting. He lost someone special during the war. I’m afraid seeing me makes him even more conscious of it.”

There were connections here that weren’t making a lot of sense. 

As the Captain-Commander dug up some pressure bandages to staunch the still dripping wound in Ichigo’s side, Ichigo tried to piece them together. To be fair, his head was still ringing from a hard blow he took, but also Ichigo was fairly certain that Kyōraku had just used the words ‘special friend’ and Kenpachi in the same sentence. 

“Who was insane enough to be Kenpachi’s lover?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, Ichigo regretted it, because they were talking about someone who’d died. But, who had died in the last conflict that had a connection to Kyōraku? “Holy shit! Ukitake wasn’t Kenpachi’s lover, was he?”

Ichigo’s suggestion shocked Kyōraku so much he all but threw the bandages at Ichigo in surprise. “What? My ‘Shiro? Good gods, no! What in heaven made you make that connection!?”

 _His ‘Shiro._ Well, Aizen was right about that, then. “Uh, well, you said seeing you made him more aware, and, like, everyone thinks Ukitake is---” Oh shit, Ichigo was supposed to think Ukitake was dead, too! “Uh, I mean, Ukitake was the only person I associate with you who isn’t… um, with us?”

“Unohana,” Kyōraku said, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Captain Unohana.”

Wait, Unohana was dead? How had Ichigo missed this news? He hadn’t even seen her except at the hospital when Rukia and Renji were injured in the first big skirmish with the Sternritter. Had she been on the battlefield? 

“Oh shit! How? When?” Ichigo’s voice was small, even as his fists pounded into his thighs . “No. I liked her.”

“We all did.” To Ichigo’s questioning eyes, Kyōraku shook his head. “It seemed an expedient way to force shikai, to have them fight. It is an order I regret. I suspect my career will be filled with such regrets,” he sighed, settling onto the front row bleachers, slowly, like an old man. “I don’t like losing old friends.”

Unohana had fought Kenpachi? To… force shikai? 

What?

Did this even make sense?

Ichigo still felt like he was missing something, because what chance did a healer have against the Kenpachi? But it was clear from Kyōraku’s intense expression that he was done talking about it. Anyway, Ichigo was too sad to really want to press for gory details, especially if slaughtering Unohana was some kind of power-up move. No, that just made Ichigo furious. Best not to think about that bit of fuckery. 

To be honest, Captain Unohana wasn’t someone Ichigo felt super-close to, but he’d liked her. She was always kind and strong and… a tiny bit scary. A perfect mother-figure, really. “Fuck.”

It didn’t seem like it could be true. The only person they’d truly lost and it was to ‘friendly fire’? 

Shit.

“Why is it always the good ones?”

“I don’t know, son,” Kyōraku said. “I don’t know.”

#

Aizen was waiting for Ichigo back at the estate. Ryota had warned him, but even so it surprised Ichigo to see Aizen propped up casually on one of the cushions reading a book in the sunniest room in the great empty space. Aizen's long legs stretched out, relaxed. Once again, he’d scrubbed Kurotsuchi’s make-up off his face and was just sitting there, exposed, looking like he was the lord of this manor, not Ichigo.

“Are you even trying to hide any more?” Ichigo asked.

Aizen glanced up, “Mmm?” Setting the book down in his lap, Aizen gestured for Ichigo to join him in the alcove. “How likely do you suppose it is that your manservant has seen Kurotsuchi Mayuri without his make-up?”

Ichigo shook his head, plunking down where Aizen had indicated. “Still seems stupid risky.”

Tipping his head slightly like he might agree, Aizen said, “Probably. On a similar note, what possessed you to hire a notoriously volatile captain of the Gotei to teach you basic high school chemistry?”

Ichigo shrugged. The last thing he wanted to admit was that it seemed like a convenient way to see Aizen more often.

“You know I can’t pass you,” Aizen said languidly. “Kurotsuchi never would. My report will have to be a seven page screed on how this was a monumental waste of my precious time and that you are an unteachable imbecile with maggots for brains.”

“Hey! You’re getting better,” Ichigo noted. “That almost sounded natural!”

Aizen rubbed his face. “Dear gods. I should have traded places with Ukitake.”

Yeah, except then the real Kurotsuchi would probably be running experiments on the body, and gods only knew what he would have done with Uryuu. Ichigo shuddered at the thought. Thinking about Ukitake’s sacrifice, however, triggered a question: “Did you know Unohana was dead?”

Aizen seemed genuinely surprised by the news, but then shook his head. “Dead? Who told you this nonsense?”

“The Captain-Commander?” Ichigo rubbed the spot on his side that Kenpachi had torn through like an animal. When Isane came to heal Ichigo, she’d looked far more devastated than Kenpachi had. “Are you saying….?” No, this was too much to hope for. “Is this bullshit? I mean, don’t fucking jerk me around, Aizen. I don’t think my heart can take it.”

“It’s not _me_ who is jerking people’s feelings around this time,” Aizen noted. “I was in the next door cell. I would have felt such a tremendous passing. Besides, Unohana’s bankai is self-healing. She’s an unkillable murder machine in her bankai form. Trust me, she was very much alive after Zaraki left, though I can understand why he might think he killed her. He came the closest of anyone who has ever tried." 

Were they talking about the same Unohana? Ichigo had thought her a touch scary, but...'unkillable murder machine?' Really? 

With a deepening frown, Aizen continued. "But, so why then does Kyōraku want people to think… ah!" The thought seemed to hit him suddenly. Aizen's brain making connections at a speed Ichigo was having trouble matching. "The Royal Guard! Of course! With most of them dispatched, someone has to watch over that rotting hunk of….” Aizen sat up as he spoke, his posture becoming more and more agitated. “Oh. Gods damn it all to hell. Having the First Kenpachi there, guarding that...,” Aizen’s let out an angry breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, “No, no… NO!” His fist slammed into the tatami. “Of all people--she’s the only one strong enough to break Kyoka Suigetsu’s power. I’ll never get past her. Never!” Aizen jumped to his feet. The book clattered to the floor.

“Jesus, what’s going on? Who the hell is the First Kenpachi? Are you saying... what I think you’re saying?”

Aizen ignored Ichigo’s questions. When he spoke, his voice was as dark and hard as obsidian. “That old drunk knows. He knows I’m free. He’s known from the start.”


	4. Confrontations & Compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyouraku is on to Aizen. What will his next move be? More importantly, what will Ichigo do?

Ichigo had rarely seen Aizen so worked up. In fact, he could really only remember one time that Aizen had ever raised his voice. It was when old Hat-and-Clogs had trapped him. No, that wasn’t quite right, was it? Thinking back, Aizen been more bemused than pissed off the moment he realized that Urahara had outplayed him. 

The one time Aizen lost his shit was when he was ranting about the Soul King.

Kind of like now.

Except, instead of a blazing rant, Aizen’s silently fumed--his eyes holding a cold, murderous fire.

Ichigo couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. He sucked at this ridiculous charade. He was a terrible liar--especially to Rukia and his friends. Better, that this whole thing blow open and let the shit hit the fan. Ichigo was certain that, if it came down to a fight, the right path would reveal itself. It always had in the past.

His heart knew what to do in a fight. 

“Well,” Ichigo said, leaning his back against the wall. “How soon until they show up?”

Aizen stopped pacing and glanced up from his deep brood. “Show up? Who?”

“You said Kyouraku knows,” Ichigo reminded him. “So when does the fight start?”

Aizen laughed.

Ichigo decided he didn’t like that sound as much as he had in the past. Or maybe it was just that this particular laugh felt especially condescending.

“Itching for a fight, are you, Kurosaki?” Aizen asked. He reached down to retrieve the book that had fallen from his lap. He tucked book into the sleeve of his captain’s haori. “I see why Grimmjow is so terribly fond of you. You’re both very insistent that violence is the solution to every problem. Alas, I doubt we’ll be going head-to-head with the Captain-Commander anytime soon.”

Ichigo didn’t bother hiding his frustration. “Well, why not?!”

“Because,” Aizen said slowly and carefully, “the Queen covers the King. To put it another way, their asset is perfectly guarded from any direct attack by me, at least with the current pieces I have in play.”

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I wasn’t on the Shoji Team. I don’t understand any of this bullshit.”

“There’s no Queen in shoji---ah, never mind.” Aizen tucked his arms into his sleeves. “Have you played soccer?”

“Uh, sure?” 

“The goalie is too strong,” Aizen said. “Does that clear things up?”

“Sort of? But---ugh,” Ichigo let out a long groan of frustration. Some days he was really happy he’d only ended up hanging in Hueco Mundo with Aizen for a few weeks. He’d have fucking killed him if it’d gone on any longer. “Fine, if you insist on talking metaphors, I guess my issue is: aren’t we still in the game? Like, isn’t, I dunno, Kyouraku going to come barreling down the pitch and take the ball from you?”

“Me? I’m not on a field.”

Ichigo pinched the space between his eyes. “I’m so fucking confused.”

“To be fair, I’m not sure I said that properly,” Aizen said with a little half-smile. “I never played soccer. I was president and founding member of the Academy chess club.”

Ichigo snorted a laugh. “There’s a shocker. Aizen Sousuke: nerd.”

“Strategist,” Aizen corrected. “And, Szayelaporro suggested that I should insist on preferring the term ‘intellectual badass.’”

Ichigo shook his head. Aizen could be so sincerely adorkable. “First,” Ichigo said, “That’s hilarious, and, second, how is it that your Espada were better at humaning than you are?”

Aizen shrugged. “I most certainly make a better a human than Szayelaporro Granz. My glasses were not made of my own bone, and I very rarely eat my subordinates.”

Ichigo smiled. “Rarely, huh?”

“Well, I do tend to stab them.”

“Okay, wow, that escalated,” Ichigo pushed off the wall with a frown. He had to physically hold himself back from bashing Aizen in his pretty face. Several deep breaths later, he managed: “Momo was in the hospital for months, you shit. The fuck, Aizen? Why do you do this? I almost liked you for five minutes there! I was honestly starting to enjoy our banter.” 

“I think you answered your own question, Kurosaki.” With a lift of his chin, Aizen headed toward the door. As he passed Ichigo, he leaned in close--too close, Ichigo could smell his scent, the weirdly pleasant odor of rotting leaves in autumn. His breath tickled hotly in Ichigo’s ear. “You should never forget that you’re allied with a monster.”

#

‘Allied with a monster...’

That phrase haunted Ichigo all night. He was still frowning up at the high-beamed ceiling in the dark when something chirped, making him jump. 

It sounded just like his old cell phone. Ichigo scrambled around in the dark on all fours until he found it under a pile of tabi in the closet. It was a cell phone. It was, in fact, his cell phone, it even had his old charms dangling from the case. He half-remembered having his cell with him in Hueco Mundo, or maybe it was even the Soul Realm, but what the hell? Who was calling?

The number registered as unknown, but Ichigo didn’t want to lose whoever it was, so he swiped his finger. “Moshi, moshi?”

“That’s hardly fair,” came the familiar voice of Hat-and-Clogs. “I mean, I’m not exactly a yokai, but I’m technically a ghost. It’s possible I could say it twice, but I guess it seems a bit dishonest.”

Ichigo sat cross legged on the floor of his closet and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Why would being dishonest bother you, anyways, Mr. Urahara?”

“Fair point!” Urahara said cheerily. “Is Kurotsuchi an imposter by any chance?”

Ichigo did an honest-to-god spit take--only, he hadn’t been drinking anything so all that spewed out was saliva. His heart caught up a second later and started to pound nervously. “What? Why are you asking me that??”

“It’s just that I’ve been asked to take over teaching you high school chemistry,” Urahara said breezily. “And, while he did insult my intelligence while asking, Kurotsuchi didn’t flirt with me at all, and that seems odd, don’t you think?”

“Flirt? What?” Ichigo would have sworn Urahara just suggested that Mayuri Kurotsuchi flirted. With Urahara. Regularly.

“Scientist mating dance,” Urahara said as if that explained anything. “Plumage and such, Kurotsuchi excels at it, normally. This was all, ‘bah, not worth my time, someone of your lower intellectual capability is better suited, etc., etc.’ without the usual trying to see what pretty rocks I have in my nest. It was very unlike him. I normally have to have Tessai bully him out of the lab and check all his pockets. This was all, ‘wham, bam, thank you, man.’ Seriously disappointing. I didn’t even have time to slip more than one surveillance bug on him. Stranger yet, I think he noticed me doing it. Far too wily and cagey. Paranoid, yes, but not sharply clever like that. A bizarre interaction, honestly.”

Ichigo had no idea what to say. Worse, he knew that if he tried to make some excuse for Aizen, he’d just end up revealing the truth. “Hat-and-Clogs, it’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“Oh? Oh, it is,” Urahara seemed surprised by the discovery. “Not in bed, then?”

“Actually, I was?”

“Ah. So you fancy learning high school chemistry from me?”

Ichigo thought nothing sounded more terrifying. How the fuck was he going to keep Aizen’s secret? He stared at the pile of tabi on the floor of his linen closet. Had he even been at this estate long enough to accumulate that many dirty socks?

Ichigo shot to his feet.

No. No, he hadn’t. And this phone? How long had it been operational?

Ichigo pulled it away from his ear to stare at ‘unknown caller’ ID. Unknown caller, my ass, he thought bitterly. He thought about tossing the phone to the floor and smashing it with his foot. This was just like when he’d found out that kindly Captain Ukitake had been spying on him through the Soul Reaper badge. Urahara didn’t need to ask what was up with Kurotsuchi. That was all bullshit. He clearly knew the score. Probably, he’d heard the whole chess metaphor conversation... and gods knew what else.

Putting the phone back to his ear, Ichigo said, “Whatever. Sure, sounds fun.”

Ichigo hung up before he got Urahara’s answer. 

Well. Maybe, at last, the fight was coming.

#

Ichigo waited for Urahara at the center of the crater that Grimmjow’s body had made. The earth still smoldered in places, all these days later. The dirt was cracked and shattered, brittle under Ichigo’s sandals. The smell of burnt hair and blood clung to the air.

Through a haze of heat waves, Urahara appeared. He approached slowly, twirling his cane, casually. “This is rather ominous. I rather thought we’d meet at the Academy’s chemistry lab?”

“Why bother,” Ichigo said, unsheathing Zangetsu. “Aren’t we just going to end up here?”

Urahara paused at the lip of the crater and leaned on Benihime. “Cutting to the chase, are we? If so, shouldn’t you already be dead?”

It was kind of a good question. 

Ichigo had no idea if he had any real chance of defeating his former teacher in battle. He literally had no idea what the fuck Benhime’s bankai was like. Renji had once said something about Urahara’s bankai ‘not being good for teaching’ but knowing Urahara that could be total bullshit just to get someone else to do his dirty work---or, just as likely, evidence that his bankai was legitimately some kind of Earth-shattering kaboom. 

Urahara looked like a idiot with his stupid, scruffy soul patch and constant hat hair, but this was the guy who defeated Aizen. A person that the Sternritter called a ‘war potential’ for his ability to pretty much out-think anyone in the room.

But, well, then again, Ichigo was not a thinky sort of fighter. 

The wind pushed at the fabric of his uniform. 

Ichigo took his stance.

Urahara tugged his striped bucket hat down on his head, hiding his eyes. “I have to say I’m disappointed. I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” Ichigo said in all honesty. “That’s what this is about.”

Urahara seemed surprised. “It is?”

“Yeah,” Ichigo said, feeling more confident by the moment. “If I fight you, it’ll make sense. Everything will make more sense. But, you have to be serious. You have to try to kill me.”

Urahara lifted the hand in which he held the cane. He must have silently called her name, because, in a crackle of spiritual energy the cane transformed into Benhime. “Ichigo, I was the one who taught you that intention is everything.”

“I know. I’m counting on that.”

#

“What exactly are you hoping for?” Urahara asked, while Ichigo caught his breath. 

Ichigo was losing. Blood dripped from the reopened wound at his side. Half of his internal organs felt… broken, non-functioning. Ichigo was pretty sure that the next time he took a deep breath, he was going to cough up a lot of blood--and probably half a lung.

That told Ichigo everything he needed to know. 

He dropped his guard and his bankai in a defeated breath. “Clarity, I guess?” 

Ichigo slumped down into a solitary patch of unscorched grass. The pre-dawn dew felt good against his sweaty neck. He stared up at the cloudless morning sky for a second before letting his eyes drift closed.

Hearing the clack of geta on either side of his head, Ichigo sensed Urahara standing over him. Even with his eyes closed, Ichigo could feel Benhime’s presence bearing down on him with her familiar menace. 

“Did you get it?” Urahara asked, “Your clarity?”

“Yeah,” Ichigo said. Opening his eyes, he wasn’t at all surprised to see the sharp tip of Urahara’s blade inches from his nose. Or Urahara’s even sharper grey eyes peering down at him, still shaded by that stupid, striped hat Ichigo couldn’t even knock off his head this time. “I think I’m on the wrong side. Only, I can’t beat Aizen either, so maybe you’re both wrong.”

Benhime’s threat was gone in a flash. Urahara gave Ichigo that weird, hiding something smile. “Your moral compass is a fascinating instrument, Mr. Kurosaki! Wouldn’t you agree, Sousuke-kun?”

At Aizen’s name, Ichigo lurched upright, glancing around. Seemingly out of nowhere, Aizen stepped forward. He wore his Kurotsuchi disguise as always, but he seemed to drop it as he grew closer. Only, Ichigo got that weird double-vision thing again, when Aizen stopped several feet back but an illusion of him continued forward--one that stripped the disguise piece by piece as he advanced. The headpiece was cast aside dramatically. The face paint rubbed away, until the non-existent Aizen wore Aizen’s real face. Curled forelock waving in the wind, and everything.

Wow, this was going to be weird. Fake Aizen looked more like Real Aizen, who hung back, still 100% Kurotsuchi-looking.

“I would,” Aizen said from his safe distance, though it seemed like Fake-Aizen had said it.

Urahara stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Ichigo could clearly see Benhime there, naked, unsheathed, and at the ready.

There was going to be a fight any minute if Ichigo didn’t intervene. 

Ichigo cleared his throat. Neither Aizen nor Urahara broke their murder-glares to look down at where he still half-sprawled between their feet. They were almost nose-to-nose, and probably would have been without the bulk of Ichigo’s body between them. That gave Ichigo an idea. He holding out a hand to each of them as if asking for help. Going by the slight twitch of his shoulder, Urahara registered the movement out of the corner of his eye, but seemed uncertain what to do. Aizen was either oblivious or uninterested.

Finally, Ichigo said, “Oi! A little help here?” 

Ichigo didn’t entirely need assistance to get to his feet, of course, but he wanted them to focus somewhere else. It worked. Without hesitation from either of them, both of Ichigo’s outstretched hands were clasped and he was hauled to his feet. 

Of course, Aizen’s was some kind of hypnotic suggestion, but it felt real enough to Ichigo’s brain. Both men let go instantly to return their wary gazes to one another.

Putting himself between them, Ichigo said, “Here’s the problem. My gut is never wrong in a fight. I don’t think he’s lying to me,” Ichigo nodded in Aizen’s direction. Turning to Urahara, he added, “And I don’t think you’re lying to me. So that means, on some level, you’re both right… and wrong.”

“Hmph,” Aizen grunted. This close, Ichigo could see that Aizen was about an inch taller than Urahara and slightly heavier. It was especially annoying, since his extra height allowed him to look down on both of them. “From the mouths of babes… But what of it? This battlefield has always been more complex than wrong or right, black or white.”

“It isn’t, if what you seek is total destruction of the Soul Society,” Urahara said simply.

Aizen let out a long-suffering sigh. “You know that’s never been my goal. If it were, why would I not have joined sides with that pig-Quincy, Juha Bach or Yhwach or whatever foreign god he fancied himself?”

Urahara chuckled lightly. “Jealous of another god on the field?”

“Hardly.”

Ichigo put a hand on Aizen and Urahara’s chests to stop their posturing. “Hey, guys! Chill, okay? This isn’t a pissing match.”

Was it weird that Ichigo could feel the solid, cold shape of the hogyoku beneath the silks of Aizen’s uniform? Yeah, it was weird, especially since Ichigo had kind of forgotten it would be there, and more to the point, wasn’t this all in his head, anyway? 

What did it say about Ichigo’s brain that he was thinking this hard about the solidity of Aizen’s pectoral muscles and what it would be like to actually touch his chest?

Real Aizen chuckled, making Ichigo blush and drop his hands from both men’s bodies. “Look,” Ichigo said, turning towards Urahara, since he was far easier to talk to without getting all bolloxed up. He jerked his thumb at Aizen. “You know what he really wants. Aizen wants to be Soul King. Seems to me that you’re missing one. What’s so fucking wrong with letting him have the job, anyway?”

“Um, sociopathic megalomania?” Urahara offered.

“Narcissism,” Aizen corrected. “If I am anything, I’m a high-functioning sociopathic narcissist.”

“Okay,” Urahara said with a crooked little smile and a dip of his head. “I’ll let you have that one. Regardless, the point is the same. Criminally insane.”

“Well, is Yhwach really a good substitute? If anything that guy was crazier.” Ichigo went to put his hands on his hips, and had to stifle a hiss of pain when it pulled in all the wrong places. He settled for just the right one, adding, “I mean, be honest, Mr. Urahara. Installing Yhwach seems weird, and kind of backwards. Didn’t we just let the other bad guy win? Is the Quincy evil overlord really better than the evil overlord we know?”

Before Urahara could respond, Aizen interjected. “Ichigo, this is... nice in its own… backhanded way. But, I told you that as much as I want to seize the Empty Throne, I can’t do it. It’s quite clear now, especially with that thing in my rightful place that I’m not quite Quincy enough to hold it, am I, Urahara Kisuke?”

“No, you’re not, Sousuke-kun,” Urahara said. “Unless you have some secret upbringing you haven’t told anyone?”

Ichigo noticed Aizen said nothing to that.

After a little quirk of his eyebrow, Urahara continued. “I’ve long known the stabilizing force that a shinigami soul can give a Hollow infected Quincy.” Ichigo noticed that Urahara suddenly couldn’t meet his eye. Urahara focused instead on talking over him to Aizen. “My failure to apply that balance to my hogyoku eluded me for a long time. I was surprised that you were the one to consider the value of the Human Soul. Very naughty of you. We’re really not supposed to go there. Very, very against the rules. However did you think to include it?”

“It was an accident,” Aizen said, as though the two of them weren’t discussing the harvesting of people’s souls. “One that nearly cost me my life.”

“Do tell.”

“Matsumoto Rangiku,” Aizen said. “I mistook her for a Rukongai soul, but she was something far more precious. We were at the very outer edges. Even so, to find a human soul there was unexpected. I don’t entirely understand how she ended up in the Soul Society, except that I do know that in profound grief a Soul can travel in the other direction. It’s happened at least once. And then there’s the question as to how the Quincy rode into the Soul Society, all those thousands of years ago. Clearly, there is an undiscovered path for the determined. Regardless, it was my profound fortune to stumble across her. Unbeknownst to me, she was guarded by a kitsune… no, more than guarded. She was loved by a kitsune.”

Urahara fanned his face with his hat. “Loved? My, my, you’re lucky to be alive.”

Aizen nodded. “Quite.”

Ichigo was getting tired of bobbing his head back and forth, like watching a pingpong game. Besides, this soul stealing talk was kind of freaking him out. It was making it really hard to tell who was supposed to be the good guy here. “Great,” Ichigo said. “So, we’re settled, right? You two will fix the whole Soul King problem together.”

“Together?” Aizen and Urahara asked in unison. Then, as if surprised at having been so in sync, they both quickly said, “No.”

Ichigo clasped them both on the shoulders. “There’s the spirit!”

Urahara gave Ichigo a sort of pitying look, as he shifted out from under Ichigo’s hand. “This is a lovely idea, Mr. Kurosaki, but, as much as it has a certain appeal, particularly given the long-term instability problems Yhwach’s corpse presents, I can hardly trust anyone with the power of perfect hypnosis, to which I have no counter, no antidote.”

“Well,” Ichigo said, “I can see through his illusions--”

“Hypnosis.”

“--trickery, whatever, “ Ichigo continued as if Aizen hadn’t interrupted him. “So, I’ll just play chaperone. Bonus: you two can teach me high school chemistry!” 

“This is an insanely bad idea,” Aizen said.

“On that, my dear Sousuke, we both agree,” Urahara said, putting his hat back on his head. “Mr. Kurosaki, this person you want me to trust with the fate of the universe, is the one soul whose motives I failed to predict and that cost me and my friends our place in the Seireitei, as well as nearly destroying the lives of your friends, the Vizards.”

Ichigo had no idea what Urahara was referring to, so he turned to Aizen. Aizen lifted a noncommittal shoulder. “My proudest moment. However, he’s been outwitting me ever since.”

“Okay, there’s a story here that I’m going to need to hear,” Ichigo said, basically to himself. To Urahara, Ichigo said, “Look, I know he’s not trustworthy. But, let’s face it, neither are you.”

Urahara turned his head, frowning at the horizon. Fake-Aizen gave Ichigo a look that seemed to say ‘I told you so.’

“Aw, c’mon, guys,” Ichigo pleaded. “I’m trying to save the world here. I can’t do it by myself.”

“I’m not even sure we’ve agreed to the terms,” Aizen said. “Are we installing me as Soul King at the end of this?”

“No,” Urahara said, “A mod soul.”

“Oh?” Aizen seemed to consider this for a long moment. Ichigo held his breath, figuring this could be a deal breaker for Mr. Megalomaniacal Narcissist. The air had started to chill and Ichigo feared that it was true of the negotiations as well. Finally, Aizen’s lips curled into a happy sort of smirk. “Well, then, things just got far more interesting. I’m in.”

“Really?” Urahara rubbed the hairs on his chin. “I had only a .005% down that you’d agree.”

Aizen gave a little smug nod. “Clearly, you’ve underestimated my interest in your created souls.”

“Hmmm,” Urahara batted his eyes flirtatiously. “The rocks and shells attract you after all.”

“Don’t ask,” Ichigo said the instant Aizen opened his mouth. “It won’t make sense even if he tells you. Okay, I’m glad we got this resolved because I’m like five minutes late for my zanjutsu class and none of us want Captain Kyouraku and Kenpachi to show up looking for me.”

“Indeed,” Aizen’s illusion turned, as though to walk away. “We’re agreed to keep my secret?”

Urahara’s face was hidden by his hat. “And let you run my Research and Development Division?”

“Why not? You let another sociopathic madman have it for a century or so,” Aizen pointed out, as the image of him merged into the Real Aizen, seemingly transforming back into the image of Captain Kurotsuchi, headdress and all.. 

“Mmm, good point.” Urahara said cheerfully. “Right then! Have at it. See you tomorrow morning, eight a.m. sharp!”

Aizen didn’t even turn around. The kanji twelve on his haori swaying the the breeze. “Will you be coming in the front or one of the many backdoors you’ve installed?”

“It’ll be a surprise!”

Aizen was nearly out of range, but they heard his deadpan: “Lovely.”

Urahara continued to wave goodbye as Aizen disappeared into the tree cover. Once Aizen was gone, Urahara dropped his hand and leaned into Ichigo. “Do we trust him, really?”

Ichigo shrugged. “He’s the only person who told me the truth about the Rukongai. So, I dunno, 50/50?”

“Ah,” Urahara had the sense, at least, to look a little chagrined. “You would’ve wanted to change it.”

Ichigo started walking in the same direction Aizen had. Over his shoulder, he said, “Yeah. Fair. Thing is, I still do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My theory about Matsumoto is one that I've had a long time. Ever since watching the Bount filler arc (I know, but I'm a completist), I was fascinated by the idea that Ichinose could walk from the Soul Society to the Human World, lost in grief (and anger?) about his Kenpachi. I've always wanted Matsumoto's story to actually Be Important. Plus, I never liked the idea that she might have been raped and that that's the "something special" Aizen stole. So, now you have my head canon. Do with it what you will.


	5. Deflection and Seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Urahara, Ichigo dashes off to his lesson with Kenpachi and Kyouraku... only to discover a captain's meeting has been called.

“I’m late! I’m really late! I can explai--” Ichigo’s apology died on his lips. He’d flung open the huge double-doors of the Eleventh Division’s dojo expecting to see two very irritated captains. 

Instead, it appeared that Ichigo had interrupted some kind of Tai Chi or yoga demonstration. The instructor--a guy Ichigo didn’t recognize, but who could totally be Eleventh with that scruffy beard and all those piercings--stared in askance at Ichigo. Ichigo stared back in confusion. Where was Kenpachi? Where was Captain Kyouraku? Ichigo wasn’t that late, was he? He might have thought that maybe he’d ended up in the wrong Division, except that he noticed Yumichika leaning against the back wall, inspecting his nails.

“Uh, my bad,” Ichigo said, sliding the doors closed behind him as he stepped into the dojo.

The instructor gave Ichigo a sneer, but went back to his downward dog or whatever. Ichigo slunk over to Yumichika and, taking up the spot on the wall next to him, whispered, “Yoga?”

Yumichika shrugged. “Kimura has been begging me to let him teach this forever.”

Ichigo nodded, like that was explanation enough, which he supposed it was. “Kenpachi?”

“Out.”

“Kyouraku?”

“It’s a captain’s meeting, dumbass. Where else would the head captain be?”

A captain’s meeting? That was… suspicious timing to say the least. Ichigo felt the urge to run propelling him back out the door. Yumichika and the instructor were giving him a serious case of the stink eye, but all he could do was wave helplessly and say, “Sorry, have to go!” as the door slammed shut behind him. 

He started to step into shunpo again, but a twinge of pain brought Ichigo stumbling to his knees. Clutching his side, he grit his teeth and hauled himself upright. _Okay,_ he told himself, as he was bent over clutching his knees, _no flash step._

It was then that Ichigo noticed he’d been dripping blood all the way through the Division. Right. Time to limp to the Fourth.

#

Ichigo ran into Renji just as Renji was trying to sneak out of the Fourth. 

Ichigo was about to make some snarky remark when he found himself caught up in Renji’s arms. He hadn’t realized he was face planting until Renji hauled him back up. “Whoa there,” Renji said, “What they hell they doing to you at Academy?”

Ichigo had thought of his lie all the way over. Thing was, the side wound? That was Kenpachi’s fault. But, the rest he figured he could blame on, “Grimmjow. Wanted a rematch. Ambushed me.”

Renji frowned at that, while strong arming Ichigo to triage. “Grimmjow? Since when can’t you beat that oversized pussycat?”

“Says the guy who never wins a fight,” Ichigo snarled.

Renji faked letting go so that Ichigo had to clutch at Renji’s chest in panic. 

“Fuck off,” Renji said. “I win sometimes.”

“Where were you going anyway?” Ichigo asked when Renji set him down on a medical cot.

After waving over a nurse, Renji stepped back and crossed his arms in front of his chest belligerently. “Nowhere. I was just… stretching my legs.”

The nurse’s healing energy felt like cold water on feverish skin. Ichigo let out a sound that was half a hiss of surprise and half pure ecstasy. Ichigo opened one eye to peer at Renji. “Right. You were trying to sneak back to duty. Rukia tells me they’ve had to sedate you.”

Renji let go of his petulant posture with a sigh. “Ugh, I’m sick of this place. I’m fine already. There’s shit to do, and if I don’t get back soon, Kuchiki-taicho’s going to replace me.”

Ichigo nodded, letting the nurse strip him of his shitage and kosode in order to bandage up his side. He’d seen the destruction on his way over. Entire streets of the Seireitei had been heaved up by the waves of Yhwach’s--or Aizen’s--spiritual pressure. It looked worse than the last time Ichigo’d wrecked the place.

The nurse tucked the edge of the bandage in. He gave Ichigo’s side a gentle pat. “That ought to do it, sir. But, you should stop playing with the Kenpachi. Nozarashi’s cuts are hard to heal. The blade is so sharp, the cut is too clean.”

“Kenpachi? I thought you said it was Grimmjow?”

The nurse looked at Ichigo’s bare shoulders and the remains of ragged slashes there, “That would explain the claw marks. But, there’s something else here, too, some kind of energy blast…?”

That was Benhime, but Ichigo waved it off, “Cero.”

“Ah, yes,” the nurse agreed. “That could account for it.”

To Renji, Ichigo said, “Kenpachi is teaching me zanjutsu.”

“Are you insane?” 

“Didn’t he teach you?” Ichigo thought for sure he remembered that Renji had been in the Eleventh.

“Ikkaku taught me. I wanted to live, dumbass,” Renji said. “Only a moron takes on Kenpachi for fun and profit.”

After applying a few more salves and bandages, the nurse moved off. Renji continued to lean against the medicine cabinet, frowning at him. Ichigo was a little disappointed that Renji had his hair up in his usual topknot. He did like the new tiger-striped bandana, though, and how fucking long Renji’s hair had gotten. Even all tied back, his ruby red mane brushed past his shoulders. It was probably just Ichigo’s imagination, but it seemed like Renji had gotten bigger--broader, somehow. Maybe it was all the extra spiritual pressure of having trained in the Royal Realm.

“Why ain’t you in Academy?” Renji finally asked.

“I kind of got kicked out,” Ichigo admitted, pulling his shitagi back on and tying up the sides. “I started too many fights and now I’m getting home schooled. Plus, I guess my dad is some kind of bigwig.”

“Kurosaki-sensei?” Renji looked like he was having as much trouble believing Dummo Dad was someone important as Ichigo had.

“Shiba, I guess?” Ichigo shrugged back into the kosode. Standing up, he tucked and re-tied everything.

“Shiba,” Renji repeated, his eyes going all wide. “Shiba… like Shiba Kaien?” At Ichigo’s confirming nod, Renji continued. “Okay, wow, suddenly a lot of shit makes sense. No wonder Rukia was so smitten with you from the get-go.”

“Oi, no one was smitten!”

Renji gave Ichigo a sly look. “Sure.”

“Shut up and buy me lunch,” Ichigo groused. “I’m fucking starving.”

Renji pushed off the wall, his face splitting into a wide grin. “Anything to get outta this place for five minutes.”

#

Turned out, the nurses trusted Renji to Ichigo’s care---which was kinda weird, given that Renji was the one in full Gotei uniform and he was the cadet, but whatever. Maybe they knew Renji was going go skive off after lunch and no longer cared.

Renji led them to a nearby food alley. Given the ease that Renji found the alley in this unfamiliar neighborhood, Ichigo was pretty sure he’d snuck out to this place before. 

“How come they’re keeping you so long, anyway? You seem healed,” Ichigo said as they queued up for takoyaki, deep fried octopus balls. 

Renji looked down at his right arm and flexed the muscles by opening and closing his fist. “I don’t think they trust Orihime’s magic,” Renji said with a shrug. “Plus, they’re wary of anyone who's spent five minutes around Aizen. I don’t think they want me back in general population until they’re sure I ain’t going to go all post-hypnotic suggestion on ‘em.”

Right, because that was a thing Aizen did.

Ichigo glanced in the direction of the First Division, wondering if, right now, Kyouraku was blowing the whole thing wide open since Aizen was so damn sure the Captain-Commander had figure him out. Had Aizen made it there in his guise as Kurotsuchi, and was he spinning some bullshit? Or, maybe he just hypnotized the lot of them again and now Aizen was the Head Captain.

Why did he trust that guy again?

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean anything by that,” Renji said, giving Ichigo’s shoulder a nudge with his own. “I mean, I guess I always forget you and Ishida spent time with… er, in Hueco Mundo.”

“Nah, no worries,” Ichigo said, moving forward with the line. They were almost to the order window, so Ichigo dug around for ken. He found a wad of bills in the inside pocket of his kosode. He must have stuck them there before heading to the battlefield with Urahara, which was kind of a weird impulse since he’d kind of figured he might die. It was a Human World habit, Ichigo guessed. Given that, he was kind of surprised not to find keys and his cell phone, as well.

He’d spent a lot of last night using his ‘soul phone’ to text Chad, who was the only one of his friends he was absolutely sure would be up at 2:30 in the morning. 

“Oh yeah,” Ichigo said, reminded. “Sado says ‘hey.’ He hopes you’re recovering.” It was funny how much more talkative Chad was in text. Ichigo had heard all about Chad’s band and about how the pillow case had gone over with Orihime. Apparently, she’d loved it, but didn’t get that it was a romantic overture from Uryu. Poor Uryu. Kind of everyone figure he was gay. It made it hard for him to score.

At the window Ichigo placed his order and Renji’s as well. Ken looked fake to him anyway. It felt like paying with monopoly money. 

“Look at Mr. Big Spender,” Renji teased. “You’re really taking this Shiba thing to heart, aren’t you?”

They shifted over to the pick-up queue. “I don’t even understand that. Do you? I mean, what’s this whole True First thing?”

Renji shook his head. “You’re talking to a kid from Inuzuri. It’s the furthest thing from me.”

“What about your boss?” Ichigo asked, taking the paper trays full of takoyaki from the server. The batter had been fried to a perfect golden brown. A generous helping of mayonnaise and bonito flakes covered them. Ichigo handed Renji his order. They went over to the edge of the sidewalk, sitting down on the curb.

Ichigo broke open his chopsticks and poked a few holes in the takoyaki balls to let some steam escape.

Renji popped a ball in his mouth, and talked around it. “Yeah, True First is a Kuchiki thing alright, but it’s not like the captain and I chat about it much. You’d have better luck talking to Rukia, I’d think.”

Ichigo didn’t really want to bug Rukia, and, anyway, she was at the captains’ meeting right now. He still felt weird after their last conversation. She was allowed her secrets, of course, but he’d never noticed her so actively keeping things from him before. Ichigo glanced over at Renji who was demolishing his takoyaki. “So, Inuzuri… what was that like?”

“Shitty,” Renji said without hesitation. But, then he set down the octopus ball that he’d skewered with his chopstick. “Why? Rukia say something?”

Ichigo shook his head. “It’s more that she wouldn’t.”

Renji swallowed the last of his takoyaki. Setting the paper tray to the side, Renji wiped his hands on his thighs. “We were poor, hungry, and desperate. It’s not exactly the sort of stuff a person is proud of. I’m sure she was just embarrassed. She wants to impress you, yeah?”

“For the hundredth time, Rukia and I aren’t like that,” Ichigo groused, finally biting into his own takoyaki. Oh! So good. No wonder Renji shoveled them in!

Renji leaned back on his arms, watching the people pass by in the streets. This area of the Seireitei seemed to have taken minimal damage. Given that the Fourth was here, Ichigo suspected that was intentional--probably Captain Unohana had set Kido wards. It wouldn’t do to have your hospital taken out in a battle. 

“It probably wouldn’t work out, anyway: human and shinigami.” Renji mused.

“Yeah, she’s all yours, big guy,” Ichigo said, but then remembered. “But, I’m shinigami. I guess I have been from the start--- dead, I mean.”

Renji squinted at Ichigo like he was trying to see the dead on him. “Well, that kind of makes me feel better.”

“What? That I’m dead or that Rukia’s not taken?”

“That you’ve been shinigami this whole time. That means I didn’t get my ass handed me to by some puny human,” Renji said. He picked up his trash and stood up. He loomed there long enough that Ichigo looked up. When he had Ichigo's gaze, Renji continued, “She might be a Kuchiki now, but Rukia used to be my big sister. You break her heart; I’ll break your neck.”

“Your big sister?” Ichigo smiled to think of tiny Rukia being the nee-chan to such a giant galut. “Isn’t that supposed to be her line, then?”

Renji dropped his fierce act with a little laugh. “Yeah, I suppose so. Rukia never needed my protection, anyway.”

She didn’t need anyone’s ever as far as Ichigo could tell. Well, maybe that one time, but that’d been his fault. She’d sacrificed her zanpakuto so he could save his family. A lot had happened since then and Rukia proved herself in battle time and time again. Ichigo finished off his takoyaki and joined Renji over by the trash receptacle. “You mad that your big sister got a captaincy before you?”

“Why would I be mad?” Renji asked. He was scanning the food trucks, clearly looking for round two. 

“How about a yam? Those are filling,” Ichigo suggested, pointing down the alleyway where the yaki imo stand stood. 

“And cheap,” Renji noted. “I’ll buy.”

Ichigo followed Renji as they wove through the crowd. “I just mean, her getting a captaincy might be awkward since you’ve had bankai so much longer. I kind of thought they’d have picked you for the job first.”

Not that Ichigo understood how any of that worked. If it was first come first served, you’d have thought they’d pick Renji over the returning Vizards, but Ichigo guessed that maybe Shinji and them were previously captains? Even if that wasn’t the deal, with their masks, they’d beat Renji in a fight, no question, so maybe it was about strength? Was Rukia stronger than Renji?

“You got to apply for the job, if you want it,” Renji said.

“You didn’t?” That was legitimately a shock to Ichigo. Renji was all about the ambition, wasn’t he? But then, Ichigo had thought that Renji was striving to impress Rukia, too, so maybe he was wrong about everything.

“I’m chasing after one star,” Renji said. “I ain’t caught it yet, so there’s no point going anywhere else until I do.”

There was no line at the yaki imo place, so they had their pick of sweet potatoes off the hot coals. Renji paid the old woman and even tossed his change in the tip jar.

Ichigo still couldn’t figure out who the ‘star’ was that Renji was after so he finally just asked. “Okay, I’ll bite. Who are you chasing?”

“Captain Kuchiki,” Renji said, and then realizing there was more than one added, “Byakuya.”

“You’re hot for Byakuya?” Pieces fell instantly into place in Ichigo’s head, and one moment over the years, in particular, stood out as very memorable. “Holy shit, man! Is that what I interrupted that day? Were you giving Byakuya your love confession!?”

“What? No!” Renji sputtered. “It’s a metaphor, you numbnut! I’m metaphorically chasing him!”

Given how red Renji’s face was, Ichigo wasn’t so sure. But, he put his hands up in surrender. One of them holding a roasted yam, but still. “Okay, okay! Whatever you say!”

Renji tore into his yaki imo angrily. With a snarl, he reiterated, “Metaphorically.”

Ichigo chuckled. “He is really fucking pretty, though. Have you noticed?”

Renji let out a little sigh. “You’d have to be dead not to.”

Ichigo agreed with a smile. “Metaphorically-speaking, I’d hit that. I mean, if it were a thing I’d do, I’d do that.”

“Well, yeah, me too,” Renji muttered. “But there’s a lot easier pretty within reach.”

“Like who?”

#

They spent a good hour discussing ‘who was hot and who was not’ in the Gotei Thirteen and eating their way up and down the food alley. Ichigo came away from the afternoon convinced that Renji just might be as about as bisexual as they make ‘em. 

Afterward, Ichigo dropped Renji off at the Sixth and was happy to see Byakuya glaring at them from on top of the Division’s wall. Ichigo waved at Byakuya. Byakuya frowned in confusion, but reluctantly raised a hand in greeting. 

Renji slunk back through the gates, like he knew he was already in some kind of trouble.

With Byakuya back that meant that the captain’s meeting was over and he could do the other thing he wanted to do before heading back for his history lesson with the Kuchiki archivist.

Now the question was, which of the Vizard would talk to him?

#

Ichigo figured his best money was on Shinji, but Momo said her captain wasn’t back yet. She tapped her finger against her pert lower lip. Then her eyes widened and she lifted her finger like she’d just thought of an important point. “Oh, but it’s Wednesday. He’s probably at the Ninth. Wednesday is cupcake day.”

Cupcake day? “Is that something I can interrupt?”

Momo nodded furiously. “Captain Muguruma always bakes too much. In fact, give me a second and I’ll come along.”

#

Walking with Momo make Ichigo really conscious of the fact that the one thing the two of them had in common was Aizen, but he had no idea how to bring up something that potentially triggering. Yeah, probably better to talk about the weather or something.

“You look smart in your Academy blues,” Momo said shyly.

“Uh, thanks.” Ichigo looked over at Momo--or rather down on. She was taller than Rukia, but she could not have been over five foot. She wore her hair in a tight bun covered in a bit of fabric, like some period actor in a one of those Chinese dramas. It was a weird affectation. Was everyone in the Soul Society some kind of cosplayer? 

“I loved Academy. Are you learning a lot?”

Ichigo wished he were, so he could share in her enthusiasm. He rubbed the back of his head bashfully. “Um, maybe I would be, if I were in regular classes, but I kind of got bounced.”

She looked so shocked that Ichigo wondered why he always went for the ‘got tossed out’ explanation rather than the whole truth. But, he just couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that their family was royalty. That was just… wrong. 

Ichigo tried to think of something to fill the growing awkward silence. 

The damage around the Fifth Division was minimal. They had to change sides of the street occasionally to avoid buckled sections, but many of the buildings were intact. Had Aizen unconsciously protected his old neighborhood? 

It was weird to think, but Aizen had been trying to save it all.

“You look a lot like him,” Momo said.

“Aizen?” 

Momo’s eyes went big and huge and horrified. “No! Why would you say something horrible like that? No, I meant your father: Captain Shiba.”

“Oh,” Ichigo blushed furiously. “Yeah. Um, thanks? I mean--I’d rather not, but whatever. I guess it’s nice of you to say so, even if I kind of hope I never get that hairy.” Ichigo realized he was rambling, so he stopped. Pulling embarrassedly at his ear, he felt he should add: “Sorry about bringing up---ah, I guess I was just thinking about Aizen because we’re in the Fifth.”

“Please stop saying Aizen-taicho’s name.”

Ichigo tried to respect her request as he blurted out: “You’re like the only one who still calls him ‘captain,’ though.” When her face started to crumble, Ichigo quickly raised his hands. “No, I mean I think that’s nice.”

“You do?”

Ichigo chewed on his lip. What was he trying to say to Momo? ‘I like him too?’ That seemed… _dangerous_. “I just think things are maybe more complicated than all that.” Ichigo said with a shrug. They had to move around another bit of buckled road. Ichigo gestured at it. “Look. It’s not like he’s all bad. He fought Yhwach with me, with everyone--like, on our side. We’d all be dead if it wasn’t for--” he almost said Aizen’s name, but stopped himself. “If it wasn’t for him.”

“But then he turned on us,” she spat bitterly. “Like he always does.”

Ichigo could hardly point out that they’d actually all been fighting Captain Kurotsuchi at the end, so he said nothing to that. Anyway, it wasn’t like Aizen wasn’t still planning to somehow control the Soul King’s throne… though, at least now Urahara was involved.

And that was probably a good thing.

“I don’t know,” Ichigo muttered to himself. “He’s just not wrong about everything.”

Momo’s gentle touch on Ichigo’s arm surprised him. “No, Ichigo, he’s not. That’s part of what’s so terrifying about him. He uses the truth to corrupt people. Truth and trust.”

That wasn’t very comforting, was it? Worse, if anyone knew, it was Momo. “Then, how come you still call him captain?”

“To remember,” Momo said, letting go of Ichigo’s arm. 

They paused. They’d reached the gates of the Ninth Division. 

Momo smiled kindly up at Ichigo and continued. “I call him captain to remember that his power isn’t absolute. He only had control of me because of the massive amount of time and energy he had to put in to convince me that he was a good man, a kind man--a man worthy of the title. To fool all of us, he had to serve faithfully for centuries. Kyoka Suigetsu is not all powerful. Yes, it can make a grasshopper into a dragon, but it’s not perfect illusion. It’s perfect hypnosis. Hypnosis only works if you have someone’s trust. Aizen Sousuke will never have my trust again, so long as I remember.”

Ichigo nodded in a very ‘good for you’ way, but he was trying to puzzle out what she meant and how it all worked. He really wanted to sit Momo down with a pot of tea or something and pick her brain about Aizen and his zanpakuto, but if he did that, she’d wonder why he cared so much, especially since Aizen was supposed to be safely tucked away in Muken, under lock and key.

#

Cupcake day was pretty special. 

It seemed to involve all the Vizards, their lieutenants, and random people from the Ninth wandering into the industrial-sized kitchen of the Division’s Mess Hall to watch Kensei bake and decorate about two zillion cupcakes like a pro. Ichigo leaned on the far wall, having secured one of the many mixing bowls to lick batter out of. Chocolate! He fucking loved chocolate.

Watching Kensei bicker goodnaturedly with Mashiro as he worked his culinary magic gave Ichigo a hard stab of homesickness. How was Yuzu doing, anyway? He had to clutch at the spot between his eyes in order to tamp down the mask that wanted to materialize.

“Whatcha doin’ here, Ichigo? Ain’t you supposed to be at school? Don’t tell me you’re already cuttin’ classes.”

Ichigo opened his eyes to see Hirako Shinji sidling up to him. It was weird to see Shinji in the Gotei uniform. He didn’t even have that newsboy hat. Or a tie. Who was this guy? “Are you growing out your hair?”

Shinji flipped his diagonally cut bangs dramatically. “You noticed! Oi, Rose! Ichigo noticed that I’m growing my hair out!”

Rose glanced up long enough to give Shinji an eyeroll. “I told you I was sorry. But your hair still isn’t my number one priority, Shinji.”

“Well, your priorities are fucked,” Shinji retorted. Their exchange apparently completed, Shinji turned back to Ichigo. He pretended to check an invisible watch on his wrist. “Ain’t classes still on? Shouldn’t you be doing the Academy thing?”

Ichigo shrugged. He didn’t want to have to tell yet another person about the kicked-out-also-royalty thing, so he just skipped to why he’d be interested in talking to a Vizard in the first place. “So, you and Mr. Urahara. What happened there?”

“Why you bringing that up?” Shinji said, his easy smile gone.

Ichigo scratched his neck. “Hat-and-Clogs just said something the other day that made me think maybe it had something to do with Aizen.”

“It had everything to do with that little fuck.”

Ichigo waited while Shinji seemed to fume internally. Finally, Ichigo prompted, “You going to tell me, or what?”

Shinji pulled a face, a kind of a toothy grimace. “Yeah, fine. I guess you should probably know. C’mon, grab some cupcakes and let’s go talk privately.”

# 

Ichigo was still trying to imagine Aizen as a young lieutenant when he made his way back to the ‘estate’ that evening. Ichigo only had the faintest memory of Aizen in glasses. 

The rest of Shinji’s story had been even harder to wrap his head around. Anytime someone brought up the hogyoku, Ichigo’s brain function flatlined. It was some kind of fucking wishing stone that defied logic and real science and killing people over it--or trying to--seemed reality warping in a way that living in the land of the dead somehow didn’t. So, Ichigo filed hogyoku stuff under ‘shit I just gotta roll with’ and tended to check-out during any long explanation of how it all “worked.”

Kicking off his sandals on the front porch, Ichigo shouted in the door: “Tadaima!”

“Welcome home, Kurosaki Ichigo.” 

Ichigo jumped back a step. He’d been expecting a response, but that was not the voice of Ryota. “Aizen? What the fuck! What did you do with Ryota?”

“Do to him?” Aizen sounded a little affronted as he strode into the main room. He wasn’t even remotely disguised. Instead of Captain Kurotsuchi’s uniform and haori, he wore a casual kimono. The hakama and kosode of a deep sea green. A haori of lighter green was draped over his shoulders. It had some kind of golden diamond-shape pattern all over. “That’s a rather suspicious turn of phrase. I did nothing to your servant. I believe he’s in the back, hanging up your laundry.”

“He just let you in?”

“And why not? I told him you and I were lovers.”

Ichigo, who had just started to relax, choked on his own spit. He spat and coughed for a long moment before he could gasp, “You… what?”

Aizen was completely unfazed. He tucked his arms into the sleeves of his kosode. His shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. “It seemed the most expedient way to explain my continued presence.”

Ichigo raised a finger. He had questions. Many questions. He could hardly decide which one was the most important, so he picked one at random. “And, why…. Why are you here? Don’t you have a division to run? Research to… develop?”

Aizen let out a small sigh and turned towards the kitchen. “Tea?”

After all the cupcakes, tea sounded good. “Sure.” Dumbly, following Aizen into the Western-style kitchen, Ichigo sat himself down on one of the tall stools around a small island table. “But, seriously Aizen. Why aren’t you at work? Don’t captains have a lot to do? Paperwork and stuff? I mean, Matsumoto is always complaining about it, or so I hear. Won’t people notice you not being around?”

“I told them I was on a research junket into the Rukongai.” Aizen’s back was to Ichigo as he rummaged through the cupboards. He pulled out a box with some kind of English-language label on it. He frowned darkly at it, before tossing it to the countertop. “Your tea choices are hideous.”

“Well, I guess if we’re lovers you should bring your own damn tea,” Ichigo muttered dryly, resting his head petulantly in his hands.

“An excellent idea.” Aizen took the electric tea kettle to the sink and filled it with water. “However, if we’re playing at lovers, you should at least attempt to call me Sousuke.”

“Yeah, like you’re so good at not using my full name every time you talk to me,” Ichigo countered. “But, stop trying to get me off track. Why are you hiding from the Twelfth, _Sousuke_? I didn’t think you were scared of anything.”

Aizen paused to look over his shoulder. “Kyoka Suigetsu is not well-suited to this particular type of deception. Short-term, I can assume any form. But, I don’t know Kurotsuchi Mayuri very well. I’ve had zero contact with his colleagues. I never thought I’d need them.”

As Ichigo watched Aizen plug the kettle in and begin searching for a set of mugs, he thought about what Momo had said. “This has something to do with how hypnosis works.”

Aizen turned to give Ichigo another long, penetrating look. Cautiously, he said, “It does.”

“I don’t get it. I thought your superpower was ‘perfect hypnosis.’ So, shouldn’t it be… you know, perfect?”

“It is,” Aizen said, turning back to his hunt for cups. “It encompasses all of the senses. When you are hypnotized to see Kurotsuchi, I not only look like him, but sound like him, smell like him… taste like him, and our spiritual pressure appears to be the same. But, in the end, perfect hypnosis is still hypnosis. Hypnosis is maintained through trust. I knew how to be a captain that people liked and believed in and would follow. I do not know how to be Kurotsuchi Mayuri on a day-to-day basis. Kyoka Suigetsu can correct a fair number of my mistakes, no matter how egregious, but the more I blunder, the quicker the hypnosis will crack and shatter.”

Ichigo was getting tired of watching Aizen not finding what he was looking for. He got up and pulled out two mugs from the cabinet near the fridge and brought them over. “Here,” he said, plunking them down on the granite. Turning around, he slouched down and leaned his elbows on the countertop. “So, you’re not invulnerable?”

Aizen touched the spot on his chest where the hogyoku was lodged. “Nearly so, now.”

Ichigo cocked his head up at Aizen. “I meant your zanpakuto. I thought you once held the entire Seireitei under your hypnotic spell.”

“Mmm,” he said, putting a tea bag into the mugs. “I did.”

“How could that be easier than pretending to be Mayuri?” After Aizen added the hot water, Ichigo took the mug that Aizen offered. Aizen had said the tea was terrible, but it smelled like home--the cheap import stuff that Dummo Dad always said was Mom’s favorite.

Aizen took a careful taste of his tea. His eyebrows raised, and he made a face like he was surprised that it wasn’t half bad. “A singular suggestion like ‘Aizen is dead,’ is far easier to maintain across many minds than the thousands of constant, micro, daily, individual interactions that this deception requires of us.” Aizen let out another long breath and stared at the wall opposite them. He wrapped his hands around the tea mug and held it close to his nose. “My zanpakuto’s shikai is best when Kyoka Suigetsu and I can work in tandem. Priming the pump for centuries as kindly Captain Aizen enhanced Kyoka Suigetsu’s hypnotic range.”

Ichigo considered that while he sipped his tea. 

Aizen took a seat around the little island. The whole kitchen was a weird anachronism, though Ichigo was extremely grateful that whatever rules governed how much modern technology existed in the Soul Society, someone had decided that the conveniences of running water and refrigeration were among them.

Aizen--or Sousuke, Ichigo, supposed--sat facing him and his expression seemed somewhat distant and wistful. The conversation they’d just had prompted Ichigo to ask: “If you and your zanpakuto work together so much, how come Kyoka Suigetsu’s so lonely?”

For a millisecond, Aizen looked gut-punched. He quickly schooled his expression, however. “What on earth gave you that impression?”

Ichigo met Aizen’s steady gaze. “You did. Or, I guess, Kyoka Suigetsu did, when we fought.”

“I see,” Aizen said, breaking their eye contact. “That’s a very intimate question.” Glancing back up, Aizen put on a mischievous smirk. “Aren’t you taking this game of lovers a bit too far?”

Ichigo came over to sit across from Aizen. The island was narrow enough that, if Ichigo leaned in, he could touch his forehead against Aizen’s. At this distance Aizen’s eyes looked like liquid amber. “We are in bed together, one way or another, aren’t we?”

Aizen let out a little huff of a laugh. “Indeed.”

Ichigo sat back, breaking the tension. “It’s up to you, man. You can tell me or not. I just… it was very memorable, that feeling.”

“And you’ve held onto it all this time,” Aizen’s voice was a seductive purr. “Are you hoping to fix me? Repair my lonely soul?”

Ichigo scoffed. “As if.” Though he found he had to look away when a blush threatened to creep up his neck. In fact, Ichigo jumped to his feet and headed to the fridge. “Yeah, so, you hungry? I’m starving.”

Ichigo was still staring into the depths of the refrigerator, not really seeing anything, when he felt Aizen come up behind him. Aizen’s arms slipped around Ichigo’s waist. When Aizen’s crotch grazed Ichigo’s butt, he stood up straighter. “What--What are you doing!?”

Aizen’s breath tickled Ichigo’s ear. “Are you the sort of assexual who is sex-repulsed?”

“Uh…” The way Ichigo’s heart hammered in his chest made him say: “No. I mean, I kind of don’t actually know.”

“Mmmm,” Aizen’s chuckle was low and evil. “Ichigo, are you truly assexual or a just an untried virgin?”

In a vain attempt to gain some control of his shallow breath and sweaty palms, Ichigo shut the refrigerator door decisively. “I’m not good at this--you’re too close.”

“Indeed.” Even as his arms released Ichigo’s waist, Aizen’s lips grazed the tender spot on Ichigo’s neck, just below his ear. A kind of shock jittered straight to Ichigo’s groin. He had to suck in the hiss of breath that escaped from between his teeth. Aizen let out low purring noise at that, and wickedly let his fingertips gently slide across Ichigo’s hips as he moved away. “You physically desire me, that much is clear.”

Ichigo was pretty sure his blush was full-body now. And Aizen wasn’t wrong. Something else was stirring, now he wasn't feeling quite so boxed in. “Yeah, okay,” Ichigo gripped the top of the closed fridge. “I guess you’re right about that. Points to you. Yippy-skippy. You’re the winner.”

“I apologize if I embarrassed you,” Aizen said in a very sorry/not-sorry tone, as he returned to his seat. He picked up his abandoned mug and took a cautious sip, as if testing the temperature of the remaining tea. It must have been alright, because he took a second drink. “Your blush surprised me, that’s all. I tested a hypothesis.”

Ichigo had to laugh at that. “Yeah, you know, let me give you a pro tip, Sousuke. You trying to seduce a guy, don’t tell him he was some kind of science experiment.”

“You’re not the first person I’ve seduced.”

Yeah, that was pretty obvious. Ichigo did not like what happened to his dick when he started imagining that, so he distracted himself by raking his fingers through his hair. He let out a long breath and shook his shoulders out until he was certain he could turn around and face Aizen again. “I guess you really don’t want to talk about how lonely your zanpakuto is, huh?”

“No, I really do not,” Aizen said. He was sitting with his profile to Ichigo, so Ichigo could not read his face when he deadpan threatened: “Bring it up again and I’ll kiss you full on the mouth.”

Okay, weirdly tempting. 

When the silence stretched, Aizen turned to glance at Ichigo. His smile was amused. “You’re considering?”

“Uh…” Ichigo wiped his mouth guiltily. “I mean… Okay, look, relationships baffle me. Nakedness kind of freaks me out. But… I liked that thing you did,” Ichigo pointed awkwardly to that spot on his neck. “Kind of a lot.”

“It’s a spectrum, Ichigo. Perhaps you’re demisexual,” Aizen said. “For me, I’m simply disinterested. There are many more things I would chose to do, given the option. I’ve learned to enjoy provoking responses, however, which has given me the reputation of being a very attentive lover. My own satisfaction is really quite secondary to the experience for me. I’d much rather see if I can make you scream in ecstacy and beg for release.”

“I.. okay. Wow.” Ichigo said. “I’m pretty sure we could talk about something else now.”

“Mmm, very well,” Aizen turned back to his tea. “The captain’s meeting was interesting. You were very much the focus of it, particularly your little cero display.”

Ichigo blinked. “Fucking Hell! Way to bury the lede, Aizen!” Pushing off the fridge, Ichigo stomped over to his place at the island table. He put his palms down on the counter. He leaned in an demanded, “What were they saying about me?”

Aizen raised a sculpted eyebrow. “It seems the Captain-Commander wanted to confab about ways to keep you… occupied and entertained. I think they’re worried you’ll get bored and wreck the place.” Aizen took another sip of his tea. “Next time you want to fight Grimmjow, might I suggest you go to Hueco Mundo? It’s mostly empty desert. And no prying Shinigami eyes.”

‘“I don’t know how to open a Garganta.” Ichigo grumped.

“Grimmjow does,” Aizen said. “At any rate, you have the power. I can certainly teach you.”

Ichigo wasn’t sure which seemed more intimate: sex or more of Aizen’s instruction.

Probably teaching was safer.

Probably.

“Yeah, okay, that’d be good.”


	6. Moon and Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After some unexpected sexual tension, Aizen and Ichigo attempt to return to normal.

They went out to the estate’s garden to practice opening a Garganta. Aizen made it look so easy, but Ichigo just couldn’t seem to focus. 

Maybe he was unnerved by that kiss on his neck earlier that had stirred up responses Ichigo had never felt before, ever. Possibly also distracting was the way Aizen sat on the stone bench, watching him so intently… with those deep, impenetrable eyes.

The evening light was soft and warm. Under the dappled shade of the maple tree and out of uniform, Aizen could not have looked less like a villain. His hair was its usual tousle of curls, somehow both fashion-ready and just-rolled-out-of-bed. His posture was relaxed, and his expression thoughtful.

You could almost take him for a regular guy, if it wasn’t for that gaze, those eyes that watched Ichigo like a… wolf.

“This should not be difficult for you,” Aizen said. “It’s a violent tearing of space. You’re more than strong enough. Normally violence is a natural state for you.”

“Yeah, I dunno,” Ichigo rubbed the left side of his face, which had started to feel brittle and mask-y. “Maybe I need to power up for it or something?”

Aizen shook his head, but he said, “Perhaps. It’s not unlike opening a senkaimon, which sometimes needs a focus. There, you might use your zanpakuto like a key, turning a lock. With this, you could try a slash.” He shook his head again, however, and stood up. “But your slashes are dangerous, Kurosaki Ichigo. I’m concerned that if you focus your spiritual pressure and then cut the air, you might destroy your lovely student housing with a Getsuga Tensho.”

There was that.

Aizen’s arm slipped around Ichigo’s waist. His body stiffened instantly at Aizen’s touch. “What are you--?”

“Shhh,” Aizen’s voice was in his ear. “Breathe. Close your eyes. I’ll guide you through it.”

Aizen’s body was warm against Ichigo’s side. He tried to take in a breath, but it was a little stuttered and ragged. He kept thinking he felt Aizen’s breath on that spot on his neck again. It was like his entire being held its breath, waiting… hopeful.

“I’ll wait,” Aizen said. To be fair to him, Aizen’s touch was not intentionally erotic. It was just that he was close enough to smell, and he smelled so… good, like walking in a deep deciduous forest in late autumn, the air heavy with the scent of rotting leaves. It was weirdly alluring, especially given that it was actually the smell of decay.

Aizen’s arm around Ichigo’s waist was firm, but not restrictive. 

Right. 

This was just teaching.

Ichigo let his hand rest against Aizen’s forearm, feeling the powerful cords of wiry muscles there. Sexy, but… also steadying, grounding.

The next breath Ichigo took was less jumpy. He managed to close his eyes.

“That’s it, just breathe.” Aizen’s voice was deep and lulling. “You don’t have to do anything. Relax. Let me lead you.”

Ichigo couldn’t help but chuckle a little. Cracking open one eye, he leaned back to look up at Aizen, “You sound like one of those TV show hypnotists when you talk like that. ‘Relaaaaax’... ‘look at the pendulum….’ You know, I’m gonna be really pissed off if I start squawking like a chicken.”

Aizen glared darky down at him. “I’ll be really pissed off if you can’t focus long enough to learn how to open a simple door. Close your eyes, Kurosaki Ichigo.”

Ichigo let out a little petulant breath. “Fine.”

“Good,” Aizen said. “Now let go. Follow me.”

Letting go was not something Ichigo was particularly good at. But, with Aizen’s wave of spiritual pressure surrounding him, Ichigo found himself more dragged along than necessarily relaxing into anything. So, like one of those stupid trust building exercises, Ichigo let himself fall.

He fell and fell…

Until he seemed to land in something… wet, no… buoyant? Aizen’s spiritual pressure felt like the very thing Zangetsu hated most: water. Only, instead of pouring rain or being dragged down in an undertow, Ichigo had the sensation of floating peacefully on a crystal clear lake. Ichigo figured, if he could open his eyes, this still water would be surrounded by ancient oaks and maple trees and the moon would shine down perfectly reflected on the mirror-like waters.

Wait.

Mirror flower, Water moon.

That was Kyoka Suigetsu.

Was this…? Holy shit, was this Aizen’s inner world? Ichigo opened his eyes and was not at all surprised to see a full moon overhead, surrounded by legions of stars. He was floating on black waters. There was a forest nearby, ancient with gnarled roots, like giant’s claws ringing the edge of the lake. But, there was no noise. No owl’s hoot or insect buzz… not even the gentle sound of waves lapping the shoreline. So achingly… dead, so gut-wrenchingly… empty.

Ichigo wondered if he could make a sound or a wave. Lifting his hand caused a ripple in the mirror and suddenly everything…

… shattered.

Thousands of shards of black glass, cutting, breaking…he was falling again.

Aizen’s arms lifted him up. Ichigo’s knees had buckled? What? Blinking, Ichigo focused. He was back in the garden. 

“Well. That was… unexpected, and, dare I say, unwelcome,” Aizen said when Ichigo got his feet under him. Aizen stepped away, breaking their contact. He seemed to be trying to regroup by adjusting the various hems of his kimono. Most unusually, he wouldn’t meet Ichigo’s eyes, and instead focused on fixing himself. “I’m not quite entirely sure how you managed that little trick. Certainly, I was receptive--open, even--but I would not have thought--”

Ichigo put a hand on Aizen’s lips, stopping him, forcing their eyes to meet. “Are you really that dead inside?”

Aizen’s gaze hardened. In a flash move, he twisted Ichigo’s arm away. “Do not presume.”

Yeah, he’d hit a nerve.

“Besides,” Aizen continued, his gaze now firmly locked on Ichigo’s. “I should think the answer would be self-evident.” He lifted his fingers to show the number three. “You are one of the few who even saw that particular Hollowfied evolution of mine. _Three_ holes. I’m far more than dead inside. I’m three times as broken as a Hollow.”

Ichigo rubbed his wrist where Aizen had twisted it. This was the second time Aizen had mentioned that nightmare form of his. “That really bugs you, doesn’t it?”

Aizen ran a hand through his hair. Somehow the one stubborn curl popped right back out. “Of course it bothers me. I’m a scientist. Have you ever seen a Hollow with more than one hole? I was in the business of breaking Souls, Ichigo. It also did not fail to capture my attention that my the three holes were perfectly aligned with three chakra.” Aizen pointed to the center of his chest, where, somewhere beneath that silk, the hogyoku now sat, “Heart. The seat of love. Love for self, love for others.” He moved down a few inches, “Solar plexus. The center of personal power, of wisdom.” Then he moved his finger lower, drawing Ichigo’s gaze ever downward. “Sacral. The pleasure center. Sexual power.”

Ichigo blinked a little at that, trying desperately not to think about sex and get all stupid and flustered again. So, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and scoffed. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a woo-woo chakra believer. Besides, that can’t be right. The second one, the one about power, is clearly not broken. You’ve got all the power a guy could hope for.”

Aizen frowned a little. “Broken doesn’t necessarily mean absent. A broken faucet drips constantly. A broken water pipe gushes--” 

“Okay, stop talking.” Ichigo lifted a hand. He did not need gushing Aizen images in his head right now. “I get it. And, anyway, Hat-and-Clogs has already used that metaphor to talk about what’s wrong with me.”

“Why would Urahara Kisuke think there was anything wrong with you?”

Ichigo found that it was his turn to look away. With a sigh, Ichigo shrugged and pointed to that spot between his collar bones. “I’ve got one, too, don’t I? I mean, when Ulquiorra killed me, I kind of went all Vasto Lorde on… well, everybody. Anyway, Ms. Inuoe drew me a picture. Uryu wouldn’t talk about it. Ever. Not that I blame him, but....” Ichigo let out a breath. “Anyway, even before all that, Mr. Urahara told me that I’m radiating so much energy all the time and I fuck up my friends with it. So, you know, leaky faucet and all that.”

“I see.” Aizen frowned like he was genuinely disappointed in something.”It amazes me that Urahara Kisuke managed to recruit you at all, with a sales pitch like that.”

Ichigo couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “Have you see that guy’s shop? He can’t even sell candy. The place is covered in dust.”

“Oddly, that information cheers me a little.” Aizen admitted with a huff of a laugh.

The moon was starting to rise. Ichigo glanced up at it, thinking of Aizen’s inner world. “Mine is a bunch of sideways buildings,” Ichigo said. “Sometimes it rains. Or the buildings get small and go underwater. It’s not like it’s particularly bustling either. I mean, if you ignore the fact that there’s two spirits crowded in there. But, like, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bird or anything either.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ichigo looked over at where Aizen stood, now bathed in soft moonlight. “My inner world. I mean, maybe I’m dead inside too?”

Aizen’s expression softened. For the first time since they started talking about this, his shoulders seemed to relax. “We’re all dead. It’s a function of being shinigami.”

“Yeah, so, maybe I shouldn’t judge. Maybe no one has… you know, living stuff in their inner world.”

Aizen raised his eyes to the moon as well. “Maybe not. Gin would never tell me anything about his inner world that wasn’t a thinly disguised threat on my life. ‘It’s a woods full of hungry foxes…’ ‘a den of spitting vipers…’” Aizen sighed, returning his gaze to Ichigo. “Kaname would make jokes about crickets, but I think that was a play on words given the homonym of his zanpakuto’s name. It’s difficult to know. We are not encouraged to discuss our inner worlds with one another. It’s considered taboo. Academy expressly forbids it.”

“Cripes, of course it does. Another rule I managed to break right away,” Ichigo said, plunking down on the bench. 

Aizen settled down beside him. “If I recall, the infraction was punishable by a stern talking to and a light beating.”

So many questions. “If you recall? Also, light... beating? What the fuck? You were given corporal punishment for talking about something?”

Aizen tucked his hands into the sleeves of his kimono. “We are, inexplicably, living in a perpetually backwards and barbaric era. Public beatings and executions--as you are quite aware, are still very common. This was private at any rate. And hardly my first. Like you, I initially seemed to run afoul of dozens of unspoken rules.”

Ichigo bonked his knee against Aizen’s. “You’re messing with me again. No way you were a delinquent at Academy. Don’t lie. You were some kind of super-nerd, teacher’s pet.”

“Not at first, no. But, I learned to be, of course.” 

The tree frogs peeped pleasantly. At some point, Ryuta must have come by and hung lanterns on the porch. Their soft light flickered in the evening breeze.

Ichigo gave Aizen a doubting look. “I just… you. I can’t see you meekly taking a beating off some stuffy-ass headmaster.”

“I needed that education, Kurosaki. I don’t think you quite understand what it meant to me,” Aizen said, a sudden fierceness in his tone. “I might have been a nobleman’s son, but I was not recognized as such. There was no guaranteed placement in the Gotei for me. Without graduation, I would have access to nothing. Nothing but prison. I hid much of it, but even what power I showed them would have been enough to send me away for life. Don’t forget, the Gotei imprisons anyone they consider a danger to the Soul Society. What do you think happens to the partially educated? Or people roaming the Rukongai with power?”

“They fight Kenpachi? I mean weren’t Yumichika and Ikkaku running around in the Rukongai? They’re not weak...” Ichigo stopped himself. Wasn’t Ikkaku the first person to tell him that Urahara was once a captain in the Soul Society? How did Ikkaku know Urahara?

“I don’t exactly know whom you’re talking about, are they--?”

“Yeah, no, forget about that for a second. What did Urahara do here, before, when he was in the Gotei?”

Aizen seemed a little surprised by the sudden shift and intensity of Ichigo’s question, but he answered directly. “He took over the Twelfth Division from Hikifune Kirio, when she was promoted to the Zero Squad.”

Ichigo frowned, pulling on his lip. “Yeah, I guess I knew that. But, it doesn’t make sense. Why would a guy like Ikkaku be all freaked out by a captain of the Twelfth?”

“Ah,” Aizen said. “Now I understand. Your friend was terrified of Urahara? Well, then, I have no doubt this Ikkaku person ran afoul of Urahara when he was the warden of the Maggot’s Nest and the leader of the punishment squad. Either your friend was taken down by Urahara for a crime at some point or they were in prison, while he was the warden there.”

Ichigo’s fingers gripped the bridge of his nose tightly. His head bowed, and he raised a hand as though to try to slow down this barrage of information. “Did I know this? Did I know that Hat-and-Clogs ran the fucking prison system?”

Aizen was silent for a long moment. Then, there was a simple, uncertain: “It seems not.”

“Fuckity-fuck. Oh, my fucking fuck. I just--how?” Ichigo pulled himself upright and grabbed Aizen by the collar. “Is this another fucking lie?”

“It’s a matter of public record,” Aizen said, completely unfazed by Ichigo’s vice grip on the silk at his throat. He didn’t raise a hand or his voice. “I’m surprised your Vizard-friends never mentioned it. I believe Sarugaki Hiyori, in particular, did not much care for this part of Urahara’s past.”

Ichigo let go of Aizen with a push. Whorling emotions brought Ichigo to his feet. “I don’t think I ‘much care’ for it either! Urahara? That goofy ass shopkeeper ran the fucking prisons? The fuck, man! I mean, he’s kind of terrifying, but I… this is crazy. The prison warden was my mentor. That’s just… great.”

Aizen made a little ‘mmm’ sound. “Well. If it’s any comfort, you don’t get a position like that if you’re disloyal. Urahara Kisuke’s belief in the rightness of the Soul Society and its judgements are likely quite solid and unshakable.”

“That’s kind of not helping right now, Aizen.”

“Apologies.”

Ichigo shot Aizen a dark glare. “You never sound sorry when you say that.”

He just quirked an eyebrow. “Are you surprised? I rarely am.”

Worst. Boyfriend. Ever. “Why am I dating you again?”

Aizen stood up slowly. “You’re not. It’s a convenient lie. However, I am willing to take you to Hueco Mundo right now and point you in the direction of something you can mindlessly bash.”

“Right. _That’s_ why I love you.”

#

The false sun of Los Noches was strange to step into. But, the sudden brightness wasn’t the only thing that made Ichigo frown in surprise. The whole place seemed completely different than the last time he and Uryu were there. For one, it was bustling with… Arrancar or maybe Fracción, Ichigo wasn’t exactly sure how you could tell the difference… but there were people… Hollow-people, everywhere. 

Aizen moved among them like he was not at all surprised to see dozens of half-masked creatures rebuilding the various castles and structures that the Wandenreich had destroyed. One of two of them even gave Aizen a little nod as they passed. 

“Hold up,” Ichigo said, grabbing Aizen’s sleeve. When Aizen turned, curious, Ichigo asked, “Are you fucking rebuilding an army?”

“I can hardly do that without the hogyoku,” Aizen said with a half-smile. “And, the hogyoku is currently occupied with other matters.”

Ichigo let go of his sleeve to gesture around, “Then what the fuck is all this?”

“These people live here,” Aizen said. “Los Noches was their home. With the Quincy invaders gone, they’re reclaiming it. What would you have me do? Turn them out?”

Ichigo shook his head, because: of course not. There had been a lot of people holed up in this fortress before. He supposed that made some sense that they thought of the place as theirs. He still felt his stomach tighten a little at every little obsequious nod or bow thrown in Aizen’s direction. “Looks like they’re loyal to you.”

“Perhaps,” Aizen said lightly. “A lot will depend on Tier Harribel. She’s the Queen of this place, after all.”

A weird sort of relief washed over Ichigo. “Right, and she hates you. I heard you cut her down mid-fight.”

Aizen gave Ichigo a little glance over his shoulder in acknowledgement. They’d been walking single file through a particularly rough section of ground. Rubble formed a small wall on either side of a narrow path. “However, she was also abandoned here. I’m a little surprised at Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck. Grimmjow is easily distracted, and not exactly the loyal sort, regardless. Perhaps Nelliel re-injured herself? She can be… unfocused in that state. Regardless, Harribel was alone and still enchained when I found her. She is recovering in her palace. If she lives, she may yet forgive me. If she dies… I’m not sure the Arrancar will believe me if I tell them I was powerless to stop the invasion here. I think they will blame me for her death.”

Ichigo half listened to the whole story because his point was still the same, “You mean like if she’d died the first time you tried to kill her?”

Aizen chuckled darkly. “Quite so.”

“I really shouldn’t date you. You’re kind of a huge dick,” Ichigo pointed out. “Plus, I’m pretty sure my dad hates you.”

“Ichigo, you would be hard pressed to find a shinigami that _doesn’t_ hate me,” Aizen said dryly. He stepped out into a wide courtyard. “From here, you should be able to make your way to Grimmjow’s palace, where you stayed before. Grimmjow might be around. I can’t imagine Urahara Kisuke keeping him in the Human World. However, if not, I’m sure someone here will fight you. Your power will be… alluring to any former Hollow. I have things to attend to. Speaking of Harribel, I should check in on her.”

Did it bother Ichigo that Aizen had ‘things to do’? He decided not to think too hard about it. “I guess this kind of looks familiar,” Ichigo said, scratching his head. “How come the place you took Uryu and I looked so much more… together?”

Aizen surveyed the damage. “I really don’t entirely understand it myself. My guess is that the Hueco Mundo I took us to before was completely out of time, some kind of construct of All Time… or possibly even something that existed in another part of the multiverse?” He shook his head. “I suspect the answer is the reason the Kido was forbidden.” 

“Yay?” Ichigo said disparagingly. 

Aizen lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps Central 46 made one wise ruling in its tenure.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ichigo said, though he really didn’t have that strong opinion on the matter. “See you later, I guess? You’re my ride home.”

“And your chemistry teacher in the morning,” 

That’s right! They were meeting Urahara in the morning! Bright Buddha, how could he have forgotten!? “Things just keep getting better and better.”

“Go defeat the Pantera,” Aizen said with a faint smile. “It will make you both happier for it.”

#

Grimmjow was pretty ecstatic about a rematch, or, at least he jumped up right away with one of those murderous grins of his. It was very weird to have come across Grimmjow sprawled out on the very bed Ichigo slept in for two weeks. He half-expected to see Uryu doing his embroidery in the corner. 

“What you looking for?” Grimmjow snarled.

“Uh,” Ichigo hadn’t realized he was actually peeking around the doorway at the corner where he and Uryu and Aizen used to have their meals. “Nothing. I just… uh, nice place you got here.”

Grimmjow’s lip went out and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I guess.” 

Ichigo glared back, waiting for some other comment, probably something disparaging knowing Grimmjow, but nothing seemed forthcoming. In fact, Grimmjow seemed uncomfortable even having Ichigo there, like maybe he didn't know what to do with a visitor.

Finally, just when Ichigo was about to make his excuses and leave, Grimmjow let out a snort and, grabbing his zanpakuto, shouldered past Ichigo, out into the hall. 

“I didn’t think ya’d make good on your promise,” Grimmjow said, slinging his zanpakuto over his shoulder and giving Ichigo a bit of side-eye. They walked side-by-side down the long corridor with its arched, open windows. “I figured once Urahara sussed Aizen out, you’d decide the deal was off.”

Ichigo shrugged. “I need the exercise.”

Grimmjow cracked another toothy smile. “Works for me.”

#

Ichigo had no idea how long they fought. In fact, they were still going hard when suddenly Ichigo found his swinging charge slamming headlong into an impenetrable barrier. The impact had him reeling back, stunned.

“Stop toying around. Defeat him quickly, Kurosaki,” Aizen said. “We meet Urahara in four hours.”

Four hours? Was it four o’clock in the morning? Shit. Ichigo shook himself out and tried to get his bearings. Grimmjow had taken them some distance out into the desert of Hueco Mundo. There were large sand dunes all around. They had shattered the few brittle trees that had grown there. 

Grimmjow crouched low in his Pantera form on the top of a nearby dune. He was covered in blood and dark smudges of sand. “Fuck off, Aizen,” Grimmjow half-growled, half-panted. “I was just about to win this.”

“I certainly hope that’s not the case,” Aizen said. He stood below them, in the valley between the two sandy hills. “Kurosaki Ichigo should not find you so difficult an opponent.” 

Unsurprisingly, at the insult, Grimmjow launched himself at Aizen. Aizen stayed perfectly still, to the point that Ichigo gripped his zanpakuto hilts tightly, thinking Grimmjow was going to land a hit. But, then suddenly, when Grimmjow was inches from striking, Aizen’s hand shot up, flat palm almost touching Grimmjow’s face. A bright-white, blinding light flashed in front of Grimmjow’s face. Aizen flash stepped to the side and Grimmjow plummeted, full-speed into the sand at his feet.

Ichigo was already running towards them, his heart pounding at the sight of Grimmjow’s completely slack form. “Grimmjow!”

“Is unconscious and fine,” Aizen said as Ichigo skidded to his knees to check Grimmjow’s pulse. “Tanma Otoshi, a crude ‘Time-Out’ Bakudō. I could have taught it to you that first week, it takes such little reiatsu reserve.”

Underneath Ichigo’s hand, Grimmjow was already starting to stir. Ichigo let out a breath and sat back on the ground to squint up at Aizen. “You going to carry him again? I’m not leaving him here unconscious to get eaten.”

Aizen sneered down at Grimmjow for a heartbeat. “Very well. But, if he’s still unconscious at the gates of Los Noches, I don’t think he’ll appreciate being brought back in my arms.”

“Yeah, good point,” Ichigo said. He was pretty sure he remembered the ‘fireman’s carry’ from CPR class. It took some doing, but he managed to get the bulk of Grimmjow over his shoulders. Unconscious Grimmjow was heavy as fuck, especially in this shifting sand, but Ichigo figured he could make it back to Los Noches. If they used a bit of shunpo.

Aizen was watching Ichigo curiously. With a little smirk, he said, “Hmmm, I can’t say that I’ve ever been jealous of Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez before.”

Ichigo was happy that the bulk of Grimmjow’s body covered his blush. “Why the fuck would you say something like that? I just spent several hours beating him to a bloody pulp.”

“Do you pull your punches with thim?” Aizen asked, as they climbed the shifting sand to the peek of the dune. “I don’t understand how you, who have faced Juha Bach, could not quickly defeat a mere Espada.”

“Uh…” Ichigo’s blush intensified. “Probably? I don’t want to kill him. I’ve never wanted to kill him.”

“I see.” Aizen sounded weirdly disappointed. He flashed into shunpo. Ichigo scrambled to catch up to him. When he stepped back out of it at the gates of Los Noches, Aizen continued, “Never tell Grimmjow that. He’ll hate you even more.”

“Tell me what, fuck face?” Grimmjow sleepily snarled into Ichigo’s belly. Ichigo stooped to let him slide off. 

“That you’re not strong enough to repel a simple sleep spell,” Aizen lied without a second’s hesitation. “Are you really still Sixth? Perhaps your time in the Human World has weakened you.”

Grimmjow’s face contorted like he might snarl, but then he broke into a huge yawn complete with curling pink tongue and bright white teeth. As Ichigo watched, he curled around himself, tucking his backup against a pile of rubble. “I’m gonna fucking kill you. But… I’m gonna nap first, okay? Hold onto that thought for… five….”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence before he was snoring. 

Ichigo glanced over at Aizen. “I mean, look at him. He’s adorable.”

“He’s a murderous Hollow-Shinigami hybrid, Ichigo. You should try to remember that,” Aizen said with a shake of his head. 

Ichigo just kept smiling at Grimmjow-ball. One just-visible hand was flexing slightly, like he was kneading the stone. 

Aizen sighed. “I do see what you mean. Right now he reminds me of a giant cat.”

“Which he kind of is?”

The second sigh was even more long-suffering. “Let me take you home. You’ll need some sleep before we deal with Urahara.”

Urahara, right. The former prison warden, who was going to be in charge of helping set up the new Soul King… and maybe teach Ichigo high school chemistry.

Fabulous.

**Author's Note:**

> This might have chapters or it might become a series. If you think of it, please vote for your favorite method of reading.
> 
> Edited to add: I have decided on chapters. Thank you to everyone who voted!


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